


Just One Day (If That Were to Happen, How Great Would it Be?)

by peterpandesal



Category: bangtan sonyeondan, bts, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Cross-posted, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpandesal/pseuds/peterpandesal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Min Yoongi finds out that "time soothes all sorrows" doesn't always hold true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1/3

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from another fanfic site (posted on AFF around 2014?). please forgive any erratum coming your way. that's about it.

Melancholy is what he smells when he intakes air to his lungs.

It had been a pretty long day, and now the sun is setting in the horizon, and though there’s a nagging feeling inside of him that something is amiss, he couldn’t exactly point it out because he’s being too careful not to hit anything while driving the road to their home. He thinks that maybe it’s his shift to make dinner tonight—he couldn’t be sure, for as the past few days, no, weeks even, she’s the one who’s been taking over the kitchen regardless of how tired she was from work. He wouldn’t call himself as the one who doesn’t pull fair, either—he has his share of labour and it’s his masculine pride that would push him to say that they don’t want partly because of him. But that was it. His participation ended there. He wasn’t helping in the household chores, and he feels sorry for himself (sometimes, but sometimes also not) because he feels like he’s the dysfunctional component in the domestic machinery.

Their dog barks in excitement upon his ingress at the gate, waggling its tail. He gets in the house and the first thing he sees is the beautiful, long straight hair he has always fallen in love with.

“Did Taehyung burn the building down by accident or you were really granted an early time-out?” jests his wife with a held-back grin. She’s already donned on the apron, and he feels a little guilty thinking that he’s done it again: he won’t be making dinner tonight.

But nonetheless he retains his sweet demeanour: he circumscribes her waist in a backhug and deliberately perches his chin on her shoulder. “Your sarcasm is legendary, Mrs Min.”

“Not much, compared to your cynicism.” She chuckles. “Who were you again—‘conspiracy theorist Min Suga?’”

“I’ve outgrown the title, you know that.”

“But I’ll never forget how much you made me laugh through the screen, doubting and lashing at the PDs like that during _Endplate King_.”

He laughs. He has a feeling this will even reach their children. “I sometimes wonder why you even wanted to marry me.”

“Well, a man from the dystopian future came to my room one night and told me if I don’t marry you the world will come to ruin as how he’s witnessed it. You can say pretty much that I had no choice,” Here she spins around, and they kiss, softly at first, which then turns a little sloppily.

“Alright, woman, this can wait later,” Yoongi giggles, reluctantly letting go of her. “I’ll go change and help you out,”

“Sure.”

He smiles at the back view of his wife as he ascends the stairs. He watches his steps but there must have been an invisibly slippery part of the flooring that he slips, and jerks awake.

  
“Hyung,” he finds maknae sitting on the bed beside his, shaking him lightly. “Hyung, are you okay?”

He blinks once, twice. When he’s regained his wits and slowed down his heartbeat everything narrows down into one thought: he wishes he hadn’t woken up at all. He takes a long drag of air into his lungs through his nostrils, but one thing that his respiratory system fails to filter from the air is the sadness: it still gets into him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. What time is it?”

“You slept in. It’s 11:43.” Jungkook smiles timidly. “Have some brunch. You’re going there today?”

Instantly discomfort and something like anger well up inside him and he nearly lashes out at maknae but good thing he stops himself in time; it’s not like it’s his fault— _anyone’s_ fault, really—that things have come to this bitter twilight. “Yeah, I’m going, I’m going. You guys wanna come with me?”

“I think it’s best you have your time alone together,” Jungkook politely refuses with a smile. He may be young but he’s also frank.

It’s a free day, and compared to how he was several years ago, Yoongi finds no reason to just laze around the house and be a burden to the members by not eating well and not contributing to the chores (because _swag_ , he used to say) for now everything has changed: every moment, even mere seconds count so much. They count so much that Yoongi would probably even kill just to have another moment, _one more day_.

 

_Just for one day, if only you and I could be together._

_Just for one day, if only you and I could hold hands._

 

Their manager volunteers to drive him there. On the way to the hospital, those lines, along with the tune, are stuck on a playback in his head. How many years has it been since that song was released? Four? Five? He takes the stairs, as leisurely as he could, because “taking the elevator is sort of a Last Days thing.”

He knocks on the door of the suite room very gently he almost doubts the person inside doesn’t hear it, but then an answer comes, in sorts: “Come in,”

As Yoongi pushes the door memories flood him in a second: it was about this season that year when they received the news. The dating ban has finally been lifted by Bang PD, and that they were free to love anyone they wished because ARMYs have pretty much matured by now and will understand ( _they always do_ , Jin sentimentally said) but since inevitably there will be a disadvantage to this they were advised to be discreet about it just yet.

Everyone seemed excited, such as Jimin, because he’s finally decided to enroll in university and there was this girl he’s been pining to hit on. Same went with Taehyung, whose weirdness was eclipsed entirely by his good looks.

Yoongi was cool with it, too cool even, to the point that he didn’t care. He’s begun producing songs more frequently now and has even produced the debut song of BigHit’s girl group that debuted last year. The last thing he needed was distraction from his career as a singer/songwriter/producer.

What made him rethink that was the event of a week later, when he was out for coffee and he came across the ever-beautiful sister of Jung Hoseok. Damn, that girl, she fine.  There was even a time when ARMYs warranted he had a crush on her. Well, they were right…a little. But it wasn’t Hoseok’s sister. It was the girl beside her.

 

“Yoongi?”

He snaps out of his reverie. “Hey,”

“Hey,” she responds, the most cheerful her weak self could manage. “What brings you here?”

The rapper sits on the chair that happens to be just adjacent to the bed. “That’s not a very good conversation-starter, you know.”

“Fine; sorry. How are you?”

“On a little writer’s block,” Yoongi sighs. “No, that’s not what I meant, okay, it’s just that of course I’m here because of you and—”

“—you can’t write?” she cuts off gently. “A musical genius like you still has to go through that?”

Something in her voice makes Yoongi want to get out of this room. But then just like every day, he has no choice but to remain because she’s like water he’s holding in his hands: slipping away with every second, and there’s nothing he could do about it except to try and make the best out of the misery. “Nobody’s perfect,” he manages to smile.

“Wow, first time hearing you admit that.” her sarcasm really is legendary. Her body’s shutting down on her but if there was one thing all her ailments couldn’t take away, it’s the sly glint in her eyes he’s always known.

No one has come to visit for today, or maybe they’ll just come later. The fruit basket nearby is already running out of its contents; the flowers in the vase are withering slowly but surely. _Just like her_ , but he keeps that thought to himself.

Yoongi tries to put on his Suga aura and he surfaces after Yoongi clears his throat. “Anyway, how’ve you been?”

“Not much improvement. The operation will be four days from now. Mom and Dad seem to be very optimistic about it,”

“Why, aren’t you?”

She’s looking down. A slight shake of the head.

Involuntarily, he takes her hand in his and he wants to say something, _anything_ , but they’re all jammed up in his throat and suddenly all he could do is just stare, stare, _stare_ , to drink in every detail of her, because if the world won’t let him enjoy her anymore soon then sure as hell he would immortalize her in his memories.

“Do you remember,” she starts, in a really small voice. “The second time we met?”

How could he not? It was during a fansigning event. It was a month after Hoseok’s sister introduced her to him. Yoongi wasn’t looking when the person next in line came in front of him, and when he read what was on the sticky note: _hey, handsome. remember me?_ He looked up then, disgusted by the flirty tone the question was used with, but the disgust was instantly replaced by astonishment. He was about to exclaim, “It’s you!” but she’s already put a finger on her lips and whispered clearly, despite of the loud surroundings, “They might think I’m a personal relation. We don’t want them thinking that now, do we?” Yoongi smirked. This girl was really something. He nodded then, and wrote down his witty answer: _of course; where were you last time?_

“I do,” presently Yoongi says. “I thought Hoseok’s sister was just bluffing about you being our fan,”

Wind breezes into the room, blowing the thin, nearly transparent curtains into a gentle dance. “I’ve been to some of your fansigns before that; you’re a horrible idol, Min Suga.”

Rolling his eyes, “With the amount of fangirls we encounter you can’t expect me to remember everyone.”

“But others stand out, don’t they?” she says this with a wink, at which he scoffs, but nonetheless agrees with.

 

 

After that day, Yoongi wouldn’t deny that something inside him stirred. When he was younger he was hormonal too, like the others, but wasn’t as aggressive as them when it came to romance. Apparently the only romance in his life was with music. That day, though, after the Yeouido event, he concluded that maybe that part of him as a man finally woke up and decided to tread the earth to look for its other half and the catch was it didn’t have to tread that far because it’s probably already found what it was looking for.

“Hoseok-ah,” he called the other rapper after dinner one night. “How’s your sister?”

“Hyung, lay _off_.”

“No-no-no, that’s not what I meant, I mean really, how’s she? Is she doing well?”

Hoseok flattened his eyes at him. “Yes, she is. Why do you ask?”

“Have I told you that I met her?”

“When?”

“A month ago.”

“That’s fresh news, hyung.”

He grunted. “Never mind; forget about it.”

But Yoongi couldn’t forget. He remembers her name, but that was where it ended. No contacts, nothing at all. His curiosity was killing him, but he didn’t want to get information that made him seem like he was so thirsty for it.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung lifted the sleeping mask off his eyes. “You asleep?”

“Dammit, Kim Taehyung!” he roared. “Don’t you see I _am_?”

Taehyung’s grin is adorable, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s the most annoying person to ever grace the planet. He annoys his hyungs, _every day without fail._ “Eh, but you kept on fidgeting, which only meant you were _still_ awake. So what’s the big idea?”

He glared at his dongsaeng for a moment, but he only smiled back at him with unwavering audacity, so he sighed, “I’m curious about something.”

“About?”

“A person.”

“Do I know this person?”

“I don’t think you do.” The more Yoongi talked about it the more he felt uncomfortable.  He was _interested_ in her to an overwhelming point. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Tae; go to sleep,” he set back to his former position on the bed.

“Whatever you say, hyung,” the second maknae crawled to his bed. “But just remember, sometimes you have to look for answers to have them.”

That gold nugget of V almost had him sleepless that night.

The next day they were preparing for a Music Bank performance when Hoseok received a message.

“Well what do you know,” they all turned to him. “We’re going to have some of my mother’s special kimchi again.”

Recently, Mrs Jung had developed the habit of sharing to them the kimchi she makes, because “the boys are always used to eating out” and “nothing beats home-made kimchi” and they’re more than thankful for the simple but important graces like this one.

Yoongi wasn’t listening until this part came on: “Although,” Hoseok was still reading off the screen of his phone. “My sister will just send someone because she couldn’t do the errand herself today,”

Something inside him started to hope. What if it was her? He shook his head. No way. And he would rather stay true to his resolution of focusing on his career than go having feelings for someone that would be a distraction.

When they mounted the stage Yoongi wiped his hand on the back of Hoseok’s attire. “Hyung, where are your manners?! What’d you rub on my shirt?!”

“Stop infecting me with your hope,” he said grouchily, but the statement was just actually self-reprimanding.

Suga was blind to the looks exchanged behind his back after he did that.

After the performance they were spent, but content. Just one more win and it will be their fourth Triple Crown. As they piled into the car they heard someone hollering in the distance and Yoongi figured literally rubbing his hope on J-Hope wasn’t effective.

“ _Bangtan Sonyeondan_!” the girl with long straight hair caught her breath after stopping before them. “Special,” she put a hand before them signalling for a time-out, huffing. “Delivery,”

Hoseok took the heavy brown bag. “Oh, it’s you!”

She nodded, saying her name, and fanned herself with a hand. “At your service,”

“She looks familiar,” Jungkook intoned.

“Yeah; we just saw each other two days ago,” she was still huffing, but it wasn’t like she was just struggling to breathe, she was struggling not to pass out. “Yeouido,”

“Water, give her some water!” Namjoon exclaimed, and snatched the water bottle from Jimin’s hand.

“Thanks,” the girl said and drank five hundred mL in one gulp. “I’m not allowed to run, but…I just really had to. You were leaving,”

“You shouldn’t have exerted yourself too much, then.” said Seokjin.

The girl had pale skin, so it was pretty easy to see her furious blushing right after laying her eyes on the oldest hyung.

“ _You’re Jin-hyung’s_ _fan_?”  the maknae line exclaimed.

“Now isn’t really the time to tease me about that,” she replied, an embarrassed, uncontrollable smile on her face. “Anyway, that’s what your sister told me,” she turned to J-Hope. “You don’t need anything else?”

Something inside Yoongi whispered, _your number_. But he quickly mentally kicked himself.

“I think this would be all.” Said Hoseok.

“Yes; thank you,” she sighed, and apologized to Jimin for drinking everything from his bottle.

“Nope; thank _you_. Take care on your way home!”

“I will!” she bowed and trotted off. “You too. Goodbye!”

“You know she’s pretty calm for someone who’s a fan,” Seokjin smiled as they went in to the car. “She’s different.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi was cussing himself already in his head. That was his brilliant chance, and he only stood there staring at it till it went away. “Different.”

 

 

“Yoongi,” he blinks and life comes back to his eyes. She stares at him in bewilderment. “Where are you?”

“I’m…I think…at that time when you delivered the kimchi for Hoseok’s sister.”

A smile spreads on her face. “You wouldn’t have imagined that I was actually a sick person already back then, would you?”

“I didn’t take it seriously,” and it will always be one of his regrets.

“Aren’t you bored? Do you want to watch something?”

“No; I’m fine. You, I think you need to sleep. I’ll take you out for a walk later.”

She wanted to protest but he seemed to be beside himself so she decides to agree. She lies down. “Don’t go anywhere till I wake up?”

“Of course.”

She closes her eyes, and Yoongi hopes she opens them later.

 

One chilly afternoon, two weeks after that incident, Yoongi was reviewing the snippet of the track he’s made and sips from the straw. Brows drawn together, he jotted down on his notepad some prospects for a new song. But he couldn’t entirely focus, as with every sound of the bell chimes at the entrance he would look up, hoping that Hoseok’s sister, or better, _her,_ would come in.

He would lie if he said he hasn’t been doing that for the past fortnight.

Desperation and embarrassment crept in once again, because his persistence has brought him nowhere. He’s already seen more than a couple of his stolen shots by his fansites taken while he was there.  The members were already asking, but he lied to them as well as to himself that _the café was conducive to work in._

“One last hour,” he promised to himself. If she didn’t show up, she never will. And he won’t be coming back there for the rest of his life.

An empty cup and mental struggle later, he stood up, concluding that his stupid little crush on that girl will never be given a chance.

But just when he was about to push open the door for his egress, came in was the sister of his bandmate.

“Oh, my, it’s you again, Yoongi-ssi!”

His heart soared with hope. “Hello! How have you been?”

“I’m grand,” she replied. “I’ll just be here to take out some drinks and head somewhere; I’m from work.” She was about to wave farewell but Yoongi swallowed his pride and asked, even seizing her wrist—

“And your friend?” he mentioned her name, and J-Hope’s sister looked pleased.

“Not very well,” pleased, albeit a little sad. “She’s in the hospital.”

“What? _Why?_ ” he sounded more alarmed than he intended.

“She’s not really the definition of healthy, you see. But I’ll be going there; would you like to see her for yourself?”

Refusal was already at the tip of his tongue, but that part that was just _really smitten_ by her won over. “I will.”

An hour later he found himself in a suite room of a hospital, ambivalent.

“Are you sure this will be alright with you? Isn’t coffee bad for you?” the two girls were talking.

He’s seen her. Finally. Now, can he go? He’s satisfied the longing of his eyes and chest, but something also told him that if he went out he would just want to come back again.

She wasn’t necessarily pretty, but was alluring in a way, and possessed this irresistible charm called grace, as one could observe with the motion of her hands, the rise and fall of her voice.

“So what brings one-seventh of Bangtan here?” she smiled at him. “I bet no one has ever been as lucky as I am to be visited by my idol, yeah?”

“He wanted to come along.” Hoseok’s sister answered before he could shut her up.

Yoongi has heard that being attracted to someone involved most of the time feeling “butterflies in the stomach” whenever that person was nearby, but now he thought they must have been lying. Because now all he felt was an odd sense of calmness: a peace that was foreign to him, but at the same time he liked; tranquillity that washed over him gently when he met her eyes. He felt shy, yes, and a tad embarrassed, but he wanted to stay there because he had forgotten the last time he felt this calm.

“I…I just wanted to wish you a speedy recovery.” He spoke.

She snickered. “I wish. But, thanks,”

“Are you really alright, though?” he prodded on. “Sorry if I’m the one here instead of Seokjin-hyung,” he detected his own bitterness in his tone, quite surprising him.

“No; don’t be. You’re like…the fourth I like best.”

 _Ouch_.

The patient turned to Hoseok’s sister then, which stung him a little more. “I think you should get going, it’s late.”

“Well, you’re right. Get well soon, okay?”

“Sure.”

Yoongi went out of the hospital disappointed, yet longing for more.

 

 2 in the morning and Hoseok was disturbed from writing. “What’s wrong, hyung?”

“Your sister,” Yoongi looked like he’d murder someone if they didn’t give him what he wanted. “I need her Kakao ID.”

Annoyed, “Hyung, for the last time, _lay off_.”

“It’s not her I’m after!” he barked. “I swear. I need it. Just. Please.”

Blindly trusting, he told his hyung, and the next day Yoongi has already asked for the ID of her friend.

 _Score_.

 

 

“What was your favourite song from that album, though?” Yoongi’s wheeling her across the hospital grounds. Fresh air is good for the patient, the nurses insisted.

 “Hmm…I’d say _Jump_.”

“ _Jump_? Why _Jump_?”

“It was upbeat and…catchy? But then all of your songs are catchy. And you’ve so many albums already, my old favorites have been changed by new ones.”

It’s a precious moment, and Yoongi wishes he could freeze this and live in it forever. Because maybe it doesn’t have to be so bad after all; maybe God would hear him out and not let her go. But then again, he’s never really invested his faith onto something unseen, and he didn’t want to be disheartened as he already is now: praying would mean he would shed a part of himself and cast it onto a fire that would smoke up to the heavens, but he doubts smoke could embody his painful wish.

“ _Haruman;_ what about that? Don’t you like that one?” Yoongi suggests.

She tilts her head. “Sing a part of that.”

“I’m a rapper.”

“No, sing the chorus.”

Suga starts singing his part on the first verse, but is immediately halted.

“I said sing the _chorus_!”

He grunted, because he was a rapper for a reason, and she of all people should know that. But he clears his throat, and voices, “ _Just for one day, if only you and I could be together/just for one day, if only you and I could hold hands/just for one day, if only you and I could be together/just for one day, one day.”_

“Well done!”

He flattens his eyes. “You’re just messing with me,”

“Nope.” she smiles angelically. “I liked that song.”

Silence stretches between them, a peaceful one, as Yoongi continues navigating the wheelchair across the grounds. Later, they come to a stop, under the shade of an awning, eyeing the sinking sun.

When the sun has disappeared from their sight she turns to him and without words, they climb back up to her room.

It’s officially dusk when they get there, and Yoongi knows he has to call it a day with her. Besides, he still has to finish the fifth track. They’re having a comeback soon and they’re strict with deadlines.

“Your parents are coming over here later, yeah?” asks Yoongi.

“Yep. It’s mom’s turn to take care of me tonight.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

“Guess I have to go, then.” He wears the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Something catches his eye, something under her pillow, but decides against asking about it. They share a look for a moment, and subconsciously he leans in to her face but she pulls back before he could even reach her mouth, and shakes her head.

He’s embarrassed for five long seconds then straightens his pose. Why would he do that now, when he himself ended it so long ago?

“Good night, Yoongi.” At least she’s kind enough to say that before he goes out.

“Good night, too.” And the hardest part of this all is that he cares— _still_ cares, more than he should.

 

 

Since _Don Quixote_ honesty became the best policy, but maybe it already was, before Cervantes even said it because in those days Yoongi found out that there was no escape from himself until he surrendered to the truth. By day he would say she was merely “someone he was just curious about,” but at night this would be contradicted by his actions, proven that six-seventh of Bangtan observed that their second-oldest hyung spent nearly every moment tapping away with his phone.   

“Min Suga can’t be bothered.” Jimin laughed. “He wouldn’t pay us a glance even when Jungkook _bbuing bbuings_ him to death to ask him to play with him.”

“Excuse you hyung, I do _not_ ask Yoongi-hyung to ‘play with me’,” maknae indignantly opposed.

“Don’t bother him,” Taehyung mediated. “One does not simply mess with the maknae who just turned legal.”

“I’m still your hyung,” Jimin stuck his tongue out.

Jungkook smiled, and took a step really close to him, emphasizing their vast disparity in height. “Say that again, Jimin-hyung?”

He smacked him mercilessly on the forearm. “ _Jeon Jungkook, I’m your hyung_!”

“Kids, please.” Namjoon sighed, then turned to someone at the far end of the room. “Suga-hyung, break time’s over! We’re shooting our individual shots.”

“Coming!” the pale shortie came forward and just like that, they shot their MV for their third full-length album.

As with everything, there were pros and cons to Yoongi hitting on this girl. One advantage was that he was inspired frequently; he remained sleepless even when it was time to rest; composition papers flew all over the place, marked by Min Suga’s brilliance in a blaze of glory. Albeit despite of this he seemed to be perpetually trapped in an impenetrable sphere of emotional crisis, as when the members tried to drop even the slightest joke about his crush he would deny vehemently and was ready to fling water in the slightest provocation. This went on for three weeks, until one Saturday evening the princess finally got tired of his crap.

“Yoongi.”

He turned to the oldest hyung who stood leaning on the doorframe, folding his arms.

“You _do_ know that you’re blind to some things we see, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This girl,” Jin began. “There’s no use walking out or go yelling at us every time we tease you about her. If you really like her, then—”

“For the endth time, hyung—”

“—don’t interrupt me.” His Highness spoke like a diva. “Go for it if you want her.  So what if you like her? No one’s stopping you nor condemning you. You’re the only one judging yourself. We all go through that denial phase, and I have to admit it’s kind of cute seeing you under it, but really, you of all people should know it when reality strikes.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Jin was all ready to walk out, thinking that the lecture has taken effect but Yoongi said, “It’s not easy, you know.” the solemnity in his voice was intriguing. “I’m likely to lose myself if I succumb to the feeling.”

 _You already are_ , Jin wanted to say.

When he met his hyung’s eyes Jin was alarmed by the sadness in them. “We’ve been messaging and calling each other for nearly a month, right?”

He nodded microscopically.

“And a month is enough for you to get to know a person well if you frequently keep in touch?”

Another nod.

“Hyung,” the smile was Suga’s, but the pained voice was Yoongi’s. “She’s sick.”

This was enough to leave Seokjin’s mouth agape, because he didn’t sound like he was just talking about the common cold, but something serious, something _deadly_.

He’s answered before he asked. “It’s her heart that’s the problem,”

An obtrusive kind of silence thickened in the atmosphere of their room. Jin recovered after a long string of seconds. “Well then,” he cleared his throat. “I think it’s better to risk and get hurt, than spend the rest of your life wondering because you never tried.” And he turned on a heel, going away.

 

 

“So how’s she?” Hoseok asks when Yoongi is home.

“She’s undergoing an operation four days from today,” he states, trying to seem casual about it.

“Did you tell her we said hi?” asks Namjoon.

“Hmm-mm.”

The members exchange cautious looks behind his back, and decide to leave him at that.

Later at 3 in the morning, Namjoon gets up, thirsty for some water. He’s about to go back in the bedroom when he notices someone in the terrace. “Yoongi-hyung?”

Suga looks over his shoulder. The leader sees he’s holding a can of alcoholic drink.

“Hyung, we’ll start recording tomorrow. Please don’t.”

“Too late,” his hyung slurs, but he doesn’t sound that drunk, at least. “This is already my third can.”

“ _Hyung_.”

“Instead of lecturing me, why don’t you join me?” Suga looks at the vacant chair across the round table. Rapmon then, reluctantly, sits down, but refuses the drink.

“Is this about her?”

Yoongi takes a careless swig. “Everything is.”

He didn’t know that his hyung was a person who would have a hard, long time to move on.

“Did you know, Namjoon, that today she told me she likes _Haruman_?” The pale boy laughs bitterly. “I didn’t realize it until today: that was a goddamned sad song.”

“Don’t swear, hyung.”

He snickers. “Funny how one song could have so much prophecy in it.”

Namjoon just nods. “You going back there tomorrow, hyung?”

“What are you saying, of course I am,” He spits, and hastily wipes his sleeve across his mouth. “Four days, Namjoon. Four days. Four days and I’m going to lose her,”

“Why don’t you try to hope? There’s a huge chance the operation will turn out successful.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“But what if it _does_?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” his hyung’s voice shakes, and he wishes he didn’t come here at all. “I don’t even know why they agreed to have her go through that operation. Morons. Who the hell would like having themselves cut open and stick knives into their heart?” the spine-tingling laughter kicks in, and saline liquid roll down from Yoongi’s eyes. “And the funniest part? I’m just going to stand there, waiting for her life force to be completely sucked out of her while they slice her open like that!”

Namjoon stands, angry now. “ _Now_ you know the feeling of being left. This is what you did to her, yourself. If you knew she was going to leave you eventually, why weren’t you man enough to stay and let her be with you while she could? Instead, you _abandoned_ her, remember? _When she needed you most_. Now you rant like a whiney child because you can’t get the things the way you want them to be!” they glare at each other till his dongsaeng breaks off the staring contest. “With all due respect and as a leader, please go to sleep.”  And stomps back into the house.

“Son of a bitch,” Yoongi mutters before drinking again, but he knows Namjoon is right.

 

 

She had a most lovely voice over the phone.

“ _I’m getting out of bounds_ ,” Hoseok’s friend had said, laughing. Yoongi knew then, that he’s already “succumbed,” and he was heading no way but down to certain pain. Of all people, he chose to fall for a girl he knew was going to leave him eventually. “ _No fan has ever had a secret phone call with his oppa. I’m the luckiest chick to ever grace the fandom! Just look at us: we’re phoning each other_.”

“I’ll have to admit your voice is nice though,” he said coolly, or so he tried.

“ _Thanks_?” he heard her snicker. “ _So, what’s up_?”

 “Nothing, really.”

“ _Why the call then?_ ”

This was it. This was the moment that he dreaded. Honestly, he just wanted to hear her voice. But would he tell her that? No. Not in a million years. Being cheesy was never his style. In lyric-writing, maybe, but hitting on women? Forget it. This was their first phone call ever since they started messaging each other—well, snippets of voice recordings flew to and fro across space but this was different. This was _live_. “I have something to ask, but I labor under the delusion that you might get offended.”

“Now _you’re scared to talk? No, it’s fine; carry on_.”

“That thing about your sickness…” he started cautiously. He already knew the answer, but since he could think of nothing else to talk about, he brought up something that would keep her talking. “That was really serious, wasn’t it?”

“ _Guess the emoticons weren’t enough to express it, huh_.” She replied. _“It was, actually. I wouldn’t mess around with something unfunny as that_.”

All they hear is breathing for a while, then he restarts, “Why don’t you go have an operation or something?”

“ _I’ll have you know that you’re not the first person to tell me that. No, it’s not that simple. It’s not like they could just ‘tweak’ my heart like you’d think—it’s far more complicated than that. And I wouldn’t explain it to you; you might get a headache like I did when it was explained to me_ ,”

She spoke in a carefree way, just like she always did in the typed messages. Like she has been really used to this that talking about it was as easy as describing her favourite flavour of ice cream.  “Well…okay,”

“ _Okay_.”

“Okay,” there’s the quiet again. “Say, what’s your favourite song of ours?”

It didn’t take her another heartbeat to answer, “ _Just One Day_.”

Yoongi smiled. He liked that song too.

“ _There are plenty of others, too, but that just always goes on top._ ”

“No, it’s cool. I liked that too. It’s been so long since we released that.”

“ _Like, two years or so ago._ ” He’s about to say something again but she says, in an alarmed voice. “ _Um, Suga? Can I like, call you tomorrow night? I’m needed for some chores. Will it be fine?_ ”

Yoongi felt something inside him drop and die. “Well, sure. It’s late, too.”

“ _Good night, Suga._ ”

“Good night, too.”

But no phone call happened on the succeeding night, and for that night next, as yet again she was rushed to the hospital. Yoongi discovered this on her third day there, when he heard the long awaited tone of the messenger, along with the message body:

 

_Leukemia relapse in the house yo_

 

He nearly caused a rampage in their hotel room, but they were on a tight schedule and he could do nothing. They were in Thailand then, but were to depart back to Korea the next day, so the best advice everyone could offer was Yoongi should “hold his horses” (at this Taehyung had a grand time making Hoseok stand beside Yoongi, and “hyung, hold him” and laughed like the idiot he was).

But thanks to the Internet connection in the hotel he called her.

“Tell me you were joking.”

“ _I’m really bad at telling cancer jokes._ ”

Yoongi ran a hand down his face. “What room are you in? I’m coming to you tomorrow. Tomorrow’s our flight back there.”

“ _You might be tired from the jet lag; I’m fine okay, so don’t—”_

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

There was a pause, and then, “ _You got sass, son_.”

A single-breathed laughter emerges from the pit of his stomach out of his mouth, it almost sounded like he sniggered. Undeniably, she had a way of making things sound easier. “Go to sleep. See you tomorrow.”

“ _Good night, Yoongi_.”

“Good night, too.”

It was probably the first time she called him by his real name that wasn’t out of a joke or verbal comeback.

Twilight the morrow of the phone call, he climbed up to her suite room, only to find out she wasn’t there. “She’s on the rooftop,” one of the nurses said.

Huffing, he reached the topmost floor of the building, and he was about to approach her when her back view stopped him in his tracks. They were several feet away from each other, and he was confident his presence wasn’t felt yet. On purpose, he called her phone.

 _“Hello?_ ”

“Where are you?”

Yoongi thought that if she lied he would have made the mistake of liking her but then, “ _I’m on the rooftop, alone_.”

Silence crept in.

 _“Suga? You there_?”

“Do you remember,” he inhaled. Her long straight her tied in a loose tail was fluttering gently in the breeze. “How the first verse of _Haruman_ went?”

“ _Of course; that was your part.”_

“Want to hear me doing it?”

“ _I’d love to._ ”

And she was indeed right, because she really _was_ the luckiest fan Bangtan ever had. “ _If I’m given a day,  
I want to be intoxicated in your sweet scent as I fall asleep. If I have time in between my tight schedules, I want to immerse myself in your warm eyes. I like that, your long straight hair when you tie it up as it falls down your neckline. Anywhere we’d go your waist would be my handbag, you’re my honey; whenever I see you I can’t breathe, like the crowded streets of Myeongdong; our BGM is our breathing. When you call out my name, I’m captivated by your voice; I want to know you better, like an explorer exploring the unknown forest. You’re like a masterpiece that I want to reflect on, because your presence is art._” And Yoongi concluded he didn’t care anymore, if the cost of “succumbing to the feeling” would mean having not only his heart, but ultimately himself broken, soon if not later. “ _This is what I imagine every night; it doesn’t matter because it’s a senseless dream anyway.”_

Her shoulders heave slowly up and down, breathing in the sweet spring air. “ _I’ve always really liked that song. It feels like it was made for me, you know,”_ she chuckled. “ _With the straight hair and all_ ,”

“It _was_ for you.”

“ _What do you mean_?”

“The song came in handy,” _no no no heart don’t fail me now you can explode later at home I just need to tell her something here please cooperate thank you_. “I…you know that saying, ‘music speaks what the soul fails to say’?”

Cautiously, “ _Do you…like me?_ ”

 “Like you,” that wasn’t enough to describe it. “Doesn’t put it well. It’s more of a, _I want to be with you, hold you when you can’t find your strength, make you stop thinking that your heart is the biggest crap ever because that’s an insult to me: I want to have a place in it. I wish to be brave with you, through whatever your health may put you, to confess cheesy things to you under the moonlight like what I’m doing right now,_ because it doesn’t have to be so bad after all—you don’t have to feel lonely and think like everyone, even yourself, are just waiting for you to be taken away by death. You—you have to know—you are more than that to me.” he didn’t know where in the world he got those words, and was disgusted by his own greasiness but then again honesty is the best policy, and that was what he just really wanted to say.

He eyed her back wearily. She just stood there akin to a stone. After an eternity of silence, “ _I’ve told you before, I’ve had no boyfriend since birth, right_?”

“Yes.” _ah crap there it goes she’s going to dump me she is so going to dump me._

“ _There’s a reason why…I’ve been alone all this time_. _I want to minimize the casualties once I go off. I could leave you anytime—but that’s not even in my hands. Do you even know what you’re getting into?_ ”

“Yes, I do. But tell that to my face.”

“ _I don’t have to. You’re old enough to understand_.”

One could imagine how startled she was when she heard _his_ voice literally _behind her_. “ _Tell that to my face_.”

She turned her head and nearly dropped her phone. “Yoongi…”

“You heard me,” he was scowling, but he didn’t look like he was angry.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“If you really are, tell me you don’t want me in your life anymore.”

“I—” of course she couldn’t. Suga—Yoongi—has been a friend to her for quite a time now, and she knew she liked him more than she cared to own. “Come on, don’t do this.”

“No!” protested the boy. “Because it’s unfair if you ask me—I knew what I was getting myself into but I chose— _you_ , yet there you are, not wanting to be with me just because you’re scared. I’m scared, too, but when I go home tonight _I don’t want to be scared anymore_. If you’re afraid, I am too, but if we could face it together it would make things less scary, don’t you think?”

It hurt to see her cry, yes, but he felt triumphant somehow. “You won’t get compensation pay if anything bad happens, do you know?”

“I’ve always known.”

He was surprised when she suddenly embraced him by the torso, and dug her face into his chest. No one spoke for a while until, “I’m scared, Yoongi.”

 _A real man cries_ , he reminded himself. “Me too,” and embraced her back.

 

 

“ _I swear, it was love_!!!” Jimin sings out his line, nearly screaming it. It’s been a little difficult for him to hit that high note but good thing he’s mustered it; today was really the recording for the tracks.

“Are you okay, hyung?” Jungkook asks, taking a seat beside Yoongi. “No more headache?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hyung, you know…if anything’s the trouble, you can tell us. Shutting yourself in moody indifference won’t help.” Maknae speaks forthrightly, but respectfully.

“Sorry if you won’t be able to go there today, Yoongi-ah. This recording will be for the entire day.” Seokjin smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder “Let’s smash this today so you can go tomorrow,”

“I don’t mind,” he smiles thinly. These boys have become not only his bandmates or friends, but his brothers now. “I wouldn’t go there today, either.”

“Why? Something happened?”

“Kiss her,” Jungkook lets out a small gasp as Yoongi answers. “I tried to kiss her yesterday,”

“No _you didn’t!_ ” coming out of nowhere, Taehyung scoffs. “Hyung, for real?”

Soon all six of them have crowded the rapper. “Seriously?” Hoseok asks.

After all incredulities have died down Seokjin just smiles with a tilt of his head. “Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

They looked at him except for Yoongi, who looked away in shame.

“Of course,” Jimin soon says, snickering. “ _Of course_.”

They couldn’t expect Yoongi to be as fickle as that. Everyone has always known she was the only woman he ever loved, and perhaps even when all of this is over, he still will.

They just eye one another, and then Yoongi, and everyone repeats this process till a noona comes in, “Time for recording, guys.”

 


	2. 2/3

It wasn’t easy of course, especially with Bangtan’s career shooting through the roof and the occasional-to-frequent sasaeng attacks. Despite of this, they had such grand times together, but Yoongi didn’t let the fact that most of their dates occurred in hospital rooms bother him. Or so he tried.

“I didn’t know you love to write, too,” Yoongi wasn’t one who approved much of skinship, but as they say love changes people. He loved her before he knew, as corny as it would sound. They were seated together on her hospital bed, leaning shoulder to shoulder, him holding her hand.

“You underestimate me.” She replied. “Only I don’t write as furiously as you do. And it’s just a journal, with occasional poems and short stories in them.”

“Where do you place them?”

“In a notebook.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. _Beautiful_.

“Let me see,”

“No _way_ ; you’re going to laugh at me.”

“I won’t!” he laughed. “I find your lack of faith disturbing!”

She stared at him suspiciously for a while, and with her other hand, grabbed something from under her pillow. “It’s this. But don’t open it.”

“Why _not_?”

“Because!” she exclaimed, “How would you feel if someone read your diary?”

She had a point.

“Don’t worry; who knows, you’ll find out what’s in this one day.” He knew she was just kidding, but she was deaf to the ominous foreshadowing that statement entailed.  “Min Yoongi?” her voice was muffled in his sudden, tight embrace.

“I’d rather not,” and he had to repeat, to convince himself. “I’d rather not.”

Those were really happy times, though they had to meet up to the outskirts of Seoul just to have coffee together (days when she wasn’t in the hospital, which were seldom) but it certainly _was_ their little paradise, for, as Alcott would say—

 _They were enjoying the happy hour that seldom comes but once in any life—_  
the magical moment which bestows youth on the old, beauty on the plain, wealth on the poor,  
 and gives human hearts a foretaste of heaven.

Suga was conscious that his tight schedules perpetually got in the way, but never heard a complaint from her; only a sigh and a, “It’s alright, I understand,” which at first he felt guilty for abusing, but when months passed and this became the norm, he couldn’t tell the difference between being busy and deliberately neglecting her.

They _did_ call each other, at least thrice a week, and while Yoongi would share his latest successes all she could tell him was _bad news, bad news, bad news,_ like how the chemotherapy was being effective but cost much of her strength, the ever-hopeless lack of a bone marrow donor, how her heart couldn’t take all these emotional turmoil, and the potential that her liver might also give in—because there was nothing else to talk about.

“Okay,” Yoongi said once, sad and a little annoyed. “You’re at home right now?”

“ _Yes, I am_.” It even sounded like it cost her much effort to talk. “ _Say, can you come visit me tomorrow? Doc says I can’t go out,_ ”

“I…I’ll try, okay? I’ll try. I’ll be at Sukira tomorrow, you see.”

“ _Oh. I’ll just tune in then if you can’t come. Tell me when it’s going to air_ ,”

“I will.”

A few words were exchanged, and they had to end the call, because they both needed to rest, but for entirely different reasons respectively.

It had been eight months since the rooftop incident then. They still loved each other, but when the blade isn’t perpetually whetted, it has the danger of going dull. Same goes with relationships, and this was proven in their case: after about five months since they started dating the “happiness rate” seemed to decline, as slowly but surely reality struck them in their faces:  that she was sick, and was also probably on the verge of dying, and he was not to be depended much upon either, because he’s too busy and has his hands full all the time— _sometimes, love isn’t enough_.

The next day, she was merely left the option of listening to the radio, on account of his absence. And the dark, dreary days continued; that one day Yoongi actually told her over the phone which miffed her verily, but never said a word about it: “don’t you have not health-related stories to tell?”

 _Just one day_ , she wished. That was all that she wanted. That the entire world forget that he was Suga, that he was Yoongi— _her_ Yoongi, the same person she liked and soon came to love, the person who confessed to her on the rooftop that vernal night.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Namjoon asked Yoongi.  They were changing the beddings in the dorm. Yoongi was lying down, not helping as usual.

“Like, two nights ago; we video-called each other.”

“No, _see_ her. _Physically_.”

He stopped tapping on his phone, frozen. When was it? He was alarmed when he couldn’t remember. A week ago? No, it seemed longer than that. Much, _much_ longer. And he was ashamed to even admit it himself, “I…don’t know.”

To make himself feel less guilty, he used the immediate free day they had on visiting her, not composing. The doorbell rang for a few times before the door was opened. “Hi,” he greeted. The lady didn’t seem like family. He asked for an audience with his girlfriend but was answered by their maid with the chilling reply that she was, _yet again_ , brought to the hospital.

Yoongi swore that if he had the chance to design the perfect world, he would take all sicknesses out.

“Come in.”

He was the one much more surprised when he saw her, instead of the other way around. She must have looked pretty normal but for eyes sharpened by absence Yoongi nearly lost the strength in his knees when he was struck by the subtle but definite changes in her: the pale skin that was nearly yellow, her cheeks that had caved in, and the grey circles that framed her round eyes.

“I’ll leave you two for a while,” her mother said gravely, and exited the room.

“What brings you here?” a friendly smile spread across her face, stinging him square in the gut. “You should have told me you were visiting—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you’ve been admitted. This is already your _third day_ here, dammit! I went to your house before coming here!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t tell you, my phone was taken away from me.”

“Why didn’t you tell your parents? They know who I am. I’m worried, too!”

Yoongi was met with a look that he would never soon forget. There was misery, disappointment, and disgust in her eyes. “Would it have made any difference, though? If I told you, would you be able to make me better? If I told you, would you rush in the middle of your schedule to come here? And haven’t you told me that you’re sick of hearing my ‘sad stories’ about my health?”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to,” she smiled bitterly, her eyes sparkling with liquid in them. “Because judging from how bored you seem when I tell you my stories and how you seem like you’re just putting up with me now, I don’t have to take second guesses. I’m not using you being busy against you, but don’t lash out on me because I can never be healthy as you expect me to be! Look at me, and tell me if you can do something about this,” she choked back a sob. “You’re the most practical person I know, Min Yoongi. Tell me: _what solution can you offer_?

 “So you’re tired? Well _I am_ , too; you think you can no longer put up with this because we can’t see each other? I think the same, too. I am _tired_ , Yoongi, I am _exhausted_. And waking up every day wondering just how much longer I’ll have to wait for that one day when you’ll finally remember what you promised me demoralizes me even more than the hopelessness of my case.”

He was mad, but all the more embarrassed. He looked down on the floor, tightening his hands into fists, his face heating up in a blaze of emotion.

Both were crying, albeit Yoongi did a pretty good job holding back his tears and concealing how lachrymose he was.

They were just like that for a while, but as always, she was too kind to let him blame himself. “I still love you, at least.” She sniffed.

“I…” he breathed in, breathed out. “I’m…sorry,”

It was beautiful to love her. “Please, come here.” She opened her arms and tucked him into an embrace, sniffing his familiar scent that smelled like safety.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” if Yoongi looked back to how he was before he met her he’d probably laugh, because swallowing his pride wasn’t his thing, let alone apologize.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” she cried into his chest, as Yoongi stroked her long hair. But it wasn’t as silky and smooth as it used to be; it was brittle, and a chill travelled down his spine upon seeing that several strands of hair fell into his hands.

 

“Don’t you get tired?” said the lady as soon as he closed the door behind him. Yoongi looked up, to meet the scrutinizing gaze of his girlfriend’s mother.

“Ma’am?”

She looked like she was stressed too. _Of course,_ he thought, _the pain of the child is the pain of the mother_. There were dark circles around her eyes, and she seemed a lot older than the last time he saw her, he was tempted to suggest that she get a check-up too herself. “Get tired,” she began. There was bitterness in her voice, but somehow he knew that the bitterness wasn’t aimed at him. “I know who you are, Suga. My daughter doesn’t need to tell me. You’re too busy with your own life to pay her attention; too crowded by fans and stalkers and too immersed in the entertainment industry.”

 “She understands, ma’am. She’s a part of our fanbase, too.” Yoongi smiled with an air of gentle pride.

“Don’t you get tired?” she asked again, unfolding her arms and taking a step closer to him. “Because I think that more than the therapy and waiting for a donor, waiting for you exhausts her.”

He frowned.

“I can see you’re also afraid of what’s about to happen. I’m her mother but I’m not blind to other children’s troubles too. I’m pretty sure you had a dramatic reconciliation of faults there, but having made up won’t alter the reality you’ll live in. Love covers a multitude of sins, but let’s face it: it’s not enough. I have no intention to offend, but if this connection between you will just hurt you even more and for a longer time, my advice is you call it quits. She’s had enough, and I’m pretty sure you had, too.”

“With all due respect, but that’s not for you to say.” He justified, but it was too late—her words had started to take effect on him. Yoongi was a practical person, and he knew even before he started a relationship with her that he was rocketing to a world of problems. It would cost more than her strength if she continued to put up with him and his excuses—he _was_ hurting her more than she would ever admit.

And more than that, he was terrified by the idea of being left once she went away.

“I know,” her mother replied. “But it wouldn’t hurt to ponder over my advice.” He thought she was going back in but before she opened the door she changed her parlance, which nearly twisted his heart, “Thank you, Yoongi. You don’t know how much you’ve made her happy these past few months—and my husband and I pay you gratitude for that. But _please_ , we both know what’s bound to happen, after the long run.”

And she went in.

He spent a minute or two standing there, suddenly finding his shoes the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen.

 

 

As they failed to “smash” it yesterday, Yoongi’s compelled to stay in the recording studios for today. Little did he know the members are exchanging concerned looks behind him, and then shaking their heads, because he was on a countdown to misery and instead of preparing for it he’s doing something that he only does with half his heart.

“Tell her you’ll just drop by tomorrow,” Jimin recommends.

“I did,” Suga nods nonchalantly. “I promised her yesterday that I’d come by today but—nah, I’ve already broken a lot of promises in the past so what difference would this make?”

Automatically Ddochi shuts up.

“Now, now, don’t despair,” Jin tries in his awkward effort, hanging an arm around Yoongi’s shoulder. “Although I do have a question, I think you won’t mind.”

“What?”

“Have you ever kissed her?”

For a while Jin thinks Suga is judging him, but seeing that the other is trying with all his might, he replies, “Of course I’ve had.”

“I don’t recall you ever telling us about this.”

“This isn’t the type of thing that you’d share like you’ve aced a test,”

“Fine, fine. Tell me about it.”

Yoongi smiles, before he reminisces.

 

 

He’s kissed her more than anyone would guess. Most of them were on the forehead, though; he had a bit of awkwardness (the Jin kind) when it came to intimate touches. But on the late celebration of their first anniversary, a week after the tearful reunion in the hospital and three months before they called it off, Yoongi had the achievement unlocked.

She just wanted a simple date, with food and grass and fresh air because the outdoors never failed to improve her mood. They agreed upon the arrangement that they have their date on her backyard (lame, they both knew, but they couldn’t risk being followed around if they went out to public places and besides, her body couldn’t manage gallivanting out) and despite of how busy he was, Yoongi prepared. While the day of the celebration was nearing he was often met with the disapproving frown from her mother but he didn’t let that daunt him—any more than she’s already daunted him, at least. The fear still clung to him and it did so very strongly, and with each passing day he was tempted to call it quits but _no,_ as careless youth would defend, _he loves her,_ and let nothing get in the way.

What was expected to be a splendid anniversary turned out the exact opposite: it showered the entire morning, the sun blasted its heat for about an hour or two at noon, then it rained again, and the weather changed its mind again and again till it was too late to settle.

But she wasn’t dispirited, and though she knew her mood was pretty much spoiled she chose to laugh it off. “This sucks, seriously,” she sighed with a smile, eyeing the dark heavens.

“Honey, he’s here!” her dad called from inside, and quickly she unfolded her arms and fixed herself.

Emerged from the sliding glass backdoors was her boy, carrying flowers. “Hey,”

He never failed to have that effect on her. She thought she only loved him in theory when they started this relationship (because Jin always had a place in her heart) but she saw more than what she thought she meant every time she looked in those (small) eyes. “Howdy, stranger,”

Indeed, he looked like a stranger. His hair was dyed ice-blue that contrasted well strangely with his pale face. He donned on his usual boyish clothes but for a sense of formality he wore a suit-coat, which brought her back to the memories of February of 2014, back when she was nothing but a fan. “Sorry, had to go to the salon because stylist noona said so.”

“It becomes you,” she smiled, as she received the flowers. “Thanks, Min Suga.”

There was still that tranquillity in her warm eyes, Yoongi figured that _Just One Day_ really was, albeit inadvertently, made for her.

A grand time they had, though they had to sit around a table instead of on the grass, under the shade of the awning. Stories were told and listened to, and it felt like that span of a single afternoon wasn’t enough: as the hours progressed they realized how much they missed each other, their physical presence something the calls could never compensate for. She couldn’t stop holding his hand, tweaking on his hair, that he just laughed.

When dusk came, Yoongi excused himself and went in. He re-emerged from the back door carrying a feast, which set her off laughing.

She thanked him for the best dinner ever.

When the feast was cleared out they just sat there side by side eyeing the dark heavens, leaning on each other’s shoulder.

“So how’s the composition going?” she inquired, yet again playing with the strands of his hair.

“It’s going fine; all these new solo artists like to keep in contact with me.”

“That’s great,” she smiled. “You took part in the production of Namjoon’s solo album, right?”

“Yep. Said it was all he would ask from me. He said it was lonely promoting alone, but going solo also had some benefits to it…like he didn’t have to be bothered by Taehyung’s alien antics.”

Here it started raining again, and thus ended their topic. She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Yoongi?”

“Hm?”

“Do you believe in rebirth?”

“Heard about it, but I don’t really think I do. Do you?”

“I think it’s a marvellous concept; your form in your next birth will depend upon how well you do in your present life.”

He could only smile, could not quite wrap his head around what she was saying, but he had to admit it was kind of interesting.

Then she gasped, lifting her head off to face him. “What if _this_ is already a rebirth?”

“Ahuh,” he grunted. “What do you think you were in your past life?”

“Hmm…no idea, of course. But I think I was a sickly person still,”

Yoongi frowned.

“I hope I’d still be reborn human in my next birth, though…if that happens. Because I didn’t contribute much except to Be Sick.”

“You’ve done a lot,” he opposed. “You found me.”

“Cheesy!” she laughed, pinching his nose and shaking his head with it. She placed her head back to its former position, and with a sigh, restarted, “You think we’ve met before in our past lives?”

He pondered. What if they’ve had? How did it end? He could really use that, to have a hint on where all of this is going. “Maybe you and Seokjin-hyung did, because you liked him first.”

“You’re still jelly about that, huh?” she giggled. “I hope I’d still meet you if I were reborn.”

“What if I’m not a person?” why are they talking about this he wants to cry damn it “I’m, say, a flower?”

“I shall be a flower too, then.” She answered. “And then we’ll live in the same garden,”

“But flowers are ephemeral.” He said in a really low tone, it alarmed her. Here she was wrapped in both of his arms.

“So are we, Yoongi.” She looked up. “So are we.”

“Find me if we’re reborn,” he told her, then swallowed the forming lump in his throat. “Promise me that.”

“I’m sure we’ll find each other, though. We managed so in this life,” little crinkles were by her eyes when she grinned. Here the rain got stronger, and Yoongi consumed all his will not to cry in front of her. She was closing her eyes anyway, so he put his hand on the back of her head and slowly, enveloped her lips with his.

_If that were to happen, how great would it be?_

 

The next day Yoongi gets up late, because the recording strained more than just his vocal cords yesterday. He dreamt about them married, yet again, and woke up to the disappointing reality that they weren’t, they aren’t, and never will be.

“Send her my regards,” Hoseok says. “And my sis’s, too.”

“I will.” He goes out of the door, leaving behind his brothers wondering if he’ll still have to go to the hospital after this week ends.

He subconsciously hums _Haruman_ on the way to the hospital, and even to the room. Along the corridor he meets her mom looking paler than usual, that he asks, “Is she alright?”

“Yes, she is.” Seeing the little brown book in her hand, he knows where she will be heading, and lets her go ahead. To the chapel.

Three knocks, and then, “Come in.”

“Hello, Yoongi,” with a smile.

 Yoongi thinks that death probably isn’t an abrupt thing. It comes to get you slowly, sucking out every piece of someone till they’re nothing but a vessel with no content. _They’re down to the last two days_. “Hey; how’ve you been?”

“Great,” she smiles. “The doctor visited yesterday. Says I better prep up for the surgery.”

He places the bouquet of flowers on the table beside her, eyes it for a moment, and instantly builds a wall between them, remembering the confabulation about flowers and rebirth. “And you’re doing well?”

“If ‘well’ includes being moribund, then I am.” What scares him is that she doesn’t even sound sarcastic.

Before the awkward silence lasts too long he starts, “Tell me, what do you want to do today?”

He’s made a mistake asking that question, because he already knows the answer. For the entire day he entertains her the best way he can, telling about his bandmates’ latest jokes, reading to her, and afterwards, watching her sleep.

Yoongi’s heard more than once that seeing a person in a coffin is like watching them sleep. Perhaps if he does this, he’ll get used to it. His hand reaches forth, stroking her pale cheek—paler than his now—that used to be rosy and a little chubby; the cheek he kissed when he still had the right to call her his. _Can you please stay with me?_ There was this line in that song. He smiles wryly.

“It’s our theme song, you know that?” he says.

He must’ve said that louder than he intended, because she replies in a sleepy voice, “What is?”

He freezes.

She opens her eyes slowly, and stretches. “What is what, Yoongi?”

He wants her to forget it, but for the first time since they started anew, he desires to tell the truth. “Just… _Just One Day_ ,”

Slowly, so slowly, a smile spreads through her face. She places her hand on top of his which pretty much electrocutes him, and replies, “Can I tell you something?”

“What is it?”

“That…was the saddest song you guys ever made.” Back is the sly glint in her eyes, but her tone doesn’t hint she’s kidding.

There are no words, only heavy, meaningful looks. It comes out of his mouth before Yoongi even realizes he’s said it: “I’m sorry.” his face crumples into a bitter expression.

“No, no, no, _no_ ; don’t be _sorry_ ,” her long, slender fingers slowly caress his cheeks.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“I could never do that,” her eyes sparkle, now with tears. “I already understood, even back to that night on the rooftop. And even when it hurt, _really_ hurt, when you gave up on me, I thought that perhaps I could save you in a way, because I knew you were afraid of the imminent pain. But you’re back here, and call me selfish but I like it better this way: you here, like the good old days,”

 _Love isn’t pain. The circumstances are._ He disgraces himself forever in his own eyes when he begs, “Please stay.”

“I think I have stayed long enough,” Yoongi feels something wet roll down his cheek. “Long enough for us to reconcile properly, long enough for me to see you again.”

And he could only dig his face into her neck, begging for forgiveness that she’s always granted him, but never could he give himself.

When he gets home that day the members try their hardest not to point out his bloodshot eyes.

 

 

It was the last straw.

He came to visit one early morning, only to find a wild commotion happening in the residence. The maid told him that she was in her room, along with her parents.

“Yoongi. Thank God you’re here,” her father had said then, as soon as he opened the door, and let her into her room. Yoongi tried his hardest not to look at her mom.

“What happened?” he demanded, rushing to her side.

“We were awakened by her screaming; she’s been like that for an hour now.”

Yoongi looked at her, shaking. One doesn’t always get to see a person literally writhing and screaming in pain but to Yoongi, he’ll never want to see something like this again. “Hey, _hey_ ,” he called her name, seizing her hand, kneeling on a knee. “I—it’s Yoongi. I’m here,”

Her face was shining with tears and sweat while she gritted her teeth. “Y-Yoongi,”

Her mom and dad stood by Yoongi. “What hurts?”

“E-everything…” in between clenched teeth, tearing eyes.

“Let’s get you to the hospital—”

“No!” instantly. “I’m fine, I-I’m fine; I just got out there recently I don’t want to go back again!”

“But,” he couldn’t breathe goddammit. “ _Listen_! I know you’re very headstrong about this but your body can’t endure this. Look—your mom and dad are here. How would you feel if you were in their place? _We need to get you to the hospital_. Your body will give in if we don’t. We have to, because _you have to stay with me_!”

That speech had been really effective, because not fifteen minutes after that they were on the way to the hospital.

“Thank you so much, son,” nothing says awkward flattery than being called ‘son’ by your girlfriend’s father. His eyes were swollen. He must’ve been crying, or he was already crying before Yoongi even arrived. “I’m glad my daughter has you.”

“I’m sorry it was all I could only do, sir.”

“It’s more than enough,” the man with salt-and-pepper hair smiled at him, mounting a hand on his shoulder, then walked past him.

It was there, in that white hospital corridor that Yoongi knew: he didn’t want this anymore. He was afraid with an unconquerable fear. He can’t have her wait on him every single day anymore—she needs someone better than him; one that is braver than he ever will be, one that’s man enough to fulfil promises, one that’s _not a coward_ , unlike him.

He’s going to say goodbye before she can say that to him.

She was in the confines of the hospital for a week and was under tight medical surveillance. Yoongi almost wasn’t able to visit, so when the opportune time came, he decided to do it.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she greeted blithely; her warm eyes didn’t seem like they belonged to the sickly pale body.

Yoongi managed a smile, and took a seat. “How are you?”

“I’m grand,” she replied, and reclined back. “Did they say anything about me going out soon?”

“They…” he can’t do it. How was he supposed to start this? “They didn’t tell me anything. Don’t worry…I think they’ll let you out soon.”

She smiled weakly, sighing. “You think so, huh,”

The quiet stretched. _If not now, I’ll never be able to tell her_. But he wanted to stall some more time. “Want to get some fresh air out?”

She nodded. “Okay,”

He pushed the wheelchair slowly but surely across the lawn of the hospital grounds. Brown leaves were falling, crunching in their wake as it was the season of fall. It hit Yoongi then: they went together in the spring, and were now to separate ways in the autumn—“ _I met you when the flowers blossomed, but broke up as soon as they withered.”_

 _Brain dammit cut it out_.

 _Asshole,_ part of him cursed himself.

“It feels so quiet,” she’s said then, looking around, watching the yellow leaves being carried away in the wind. “It feels like everything is dying.”

“That’s not true.” Suga pointed out. “They’re just resting. See those leaves? They might be blown far away but that’s just preparation for them to be reunited again, in the spring.”

“That’s how it still seems like, though,” there was a dead glow in her eyes, one that Yoongi ever rarely saw but every time he did he never knew the remedy. Perhaps he never will.

“Sometimes one has to be away from another for a while to give the other some time alone.” Yoongi whispered, but she heard so.

“You seem to be having a great connection with the leaves, Yoongi,” she jested. “What do you mean?”

Was _now_ the opportunity? _Later,_ he begged himself. When they get back to the room. He closed down his mouth, looking down at her, and shook his head. “Come on; let’s go back,” were the last words for a long while.

When Yoongi had assisted her back to her bed she said, “You still haven’t answered me.”

He cocked his brows.

“What did you mean?”

 _Now_ was it. If not now, never. “Listen to me,” he couldn’t help it—he had to hold her face gently with both hands, to secure her attention. “I want you to know that you’ve made me happy more than anyone has ever had. Even much more than music did for me,” her eyes started to sparkle as his throat began to tighten, but he had to go on. “And remember that what I said at the rooftop that night will always be true. Those came from the bottom of my heart. Most of all, remember that you mean so much more to me than you’ll ever think,”

‘I love you’ was an overrated sentence, yet also too precious. For a reason he couldn’t bring himself to say it now, because if he really did love her he wouldn’t be doing this at all.

“Which is why I’ll have to let you go,” he continued. Damn, making a breakup speech was way harder than composing songs.

“Is this…what I think it is?” there went the first tear rolling down, Yoongi could hear the cracks forming in his heart. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“Don’t call it that, please, you make me feel more of an asshole than I already consider myself,” he tried to smile. “I have to let you go. I can’t stand the idea of you waiting on me every day, which in the first place shouldn’t even happen. _I’m_ supposed to be the one waiting. I’m not the ideal _namjachingu_ , nor will I ever be. I’m too busy with my schedules, and even when I force it I can’t escape them. And I can’t afford having you mind me, when you should be thinking of yourself. You’re too much of a martyr, okay? I don’t want to abuse it anymore,”

“B-but we managed, didn’t we? Heck, it’s been a year and several months, what difference would it make if we go on?” _please don’t use that voice_ , he was screaming in his head.

“The difference is the difficulty,” he answered. “We are happy—we _were_ happy, but we need a dose of reality once in a while, yes? It had been too painful for us. I’ve suffered, but never as much as I’ve caused you to.”

“That’s not for you to say—”

 “—I need you to take care of yourself and _only_ yourself, alright?” _shit shit shit it hurts so much shit shit shit_.

“Yoongi,” here he’s started to straighten his pose, mind fixed to go. She tried to grab him by the end of his jacket but missed by an inch. “Don’t—don’t go! You promised me!” But it was too late; he’s already made his way out, leaving her screaming and wailing inside, her noises tacked down in the four corners of the hospital room.

His shoulders jerked, startled, when he found her mother having been standing by the door all along.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” She said with a modest smile, which pretty much was like pouring vinegar on the gaping wound, and walked past him.

For more than once Yoongi’s thought to be egotistic, but now he figured that wasn’t enough to describe him: he was _heartless_.

 

 

_3:37  AM._

Jimin groans in his sleep, disturbed by small, but incessant noises from somewhere in the room. Finally he gets up, snatches his pillow, and marches to the next room with his last ounce of consciousness: Jin and Taehyung’s. Unfortunately upon his entrance there he finds Namjoon also, and more than that they’re all wide awake, playing Monopoly.

“Oh my God guys go to sleep!” he yells, and crashes on the space on Taehyung’s bed.

“Go back to your room; what are you doing here?” Taehyung smacks him with his fake bank notes.

“I can’t; it was too noisy. Loud sniffing and shit,” he groans, and covers his face with another pillow, to shield his eyes from the bright light.

Namjoon and Seokjin lock eyes. _Yoongi_. Suddenly they don’t want to play anymore.

“Sniffing?” Taehyung wrinkles his nose.

“Let him be, Jimin-ah.” Seokjin says, clearing up the Monopoly board, and shooting V a sharp look when he tries to oppose. “You have to squeeze the pus out of a wound to let it heal.”

Namjoon snorts, “But when the pus runs out, nothing will be left.”

Taehyung looks blankly at his hyungs for a while, wondering why they’re talking about disgusting things until seconds later he understands. “ _Oh_.”

 

 

He was the sorriest excuse for a human being.

No matter what wiles his members used on him he refused to open up. On the day of the breakup he just stood by the doorway of the dorm where everyone could see him, dropped his bag, and spoke like it was nothing: “I broke up with her.” And that was pretty much it.

Namjoon once said that ever since Yoongi engaged himself in a relationship with that girl it was like seeing their hyung drinking liquid nitrogen: a dose and a dose per day, and now that the blow has come, the frozen pieces of Min Yoongi scattered into irreparable thousand pieces.

Yoongi looked perfectly well externally, which had his brothers worried even more—it would’ve been better if he got wasted occasionally just to let it out, but no—he slept soundly during nights, but not before when Jimin could hear sounds on his side of the room like the wall was being pounded repeatedly.

Fortunately, Yoongi wasn’t the type to explode at people and blame them for every calamity under heaven he had to go through. He still had his sassy attitude but there was a certain kindness in his voice (it kind of lessened his usual meanness towards everyone)—but the kindness wasn’t because he wanted to _be_ nice, rather he had insidiously become passive because of the sadness and pain. Like the Yoongi they knew was crippled somewhere they couldn’t point out.

Namjoon once found Suga’s stuff in the music room, and thought that they were just lyrics to a song when he caught a line, and he couldn’t help but go on reading, despite that everything was a jumble of lines and scratches in angry black ink:

_I hope you don’t find me if we’re reborn; I’d rather you hate me on this life till the next because I don’t deserve to be forgiven and even if you do forgive me I’ll never forgive myself but still I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m really sorry I still love you please don’t leave me for dead oh God I want to kill myself what have I done to you please make this stop it’s too much I want to go back and love you again but that won’t change a thing I’ll still be the same busy asshole that will never have time for you and have you wait on me please hate me please please, please stop loving me stop somebody make it stop I keep on listening to Haruman every day please make it stop I can’t do this anymore I’m sorry for having you love a moron like me I’m sorry I still love you I’m sorry I’m really sorry_

 

Then on a separate paper, he read a familiar verse from, unmistakably, their song:

 _If that were to happen, how great would it be?_  
If only we could go anywhere, eat and watch a movie comfortably together  
I would do anything to do that  
I’m sorry; I must be too rational  
But if you see me someday, please still give me a smile  
You might resent me or even a lot  
  


Namjoon saw that his hyung skipped a few lines, but resumed here:

 _I used facts as excuses, swallowing up the words I said, but let me make up to you;_  
I met you when the flowers blossomed, but broke up as soon as they withered  
  


And here, he saw the ink was smudged:

_I’m still lying, saying that this is all for you,  
but you still stand in the center of my heart._

 

“Dammit, hyung,” Namjoon scratched his head furiously, and closed the notebook. He never looked at Suga—nor Yoongi—the same way again.

A month and several weeks after their fallout Bangtan had a major concert. In preparation for it of course they spent most of their time practicing, which was quite good, since it gave Yoongi matters to take his mind off his emo phase.

On the day of the concert they did a stage for _Haruman_ ; there were the chairs and Jin’s rose, and Yoongi’s horror came to life: he cried during it. The ARMYs sung along with them during the concert, not merely doing the fanchants, which drove all the members to tears, but Suga/Yoongi cried the hardest. At first it was just tears (Jin was the first one to break into a sob, then the rest followed) but the crying got more intense as they started to scatter across the stage, and Jimin wanted to run to that area where he saw Yoongi having crumpled down into a squat, sobbing like a deprived child, but _the show must go on_ , and the dancer had no choice but to focus on the concert, his heart quietly breaking inside him seeing his hyung humiliating himself like that. _They won’t know, they won’t know_.

The fans were all touched by the fact that the seemingly emotionally-invincible pale shortie actually broke down in front of the ARMYs, but the members knew something even the fans never would have dreamed of: that the Suga they knew wasn’t actually there, moved by the fans, but rather Yoongi, who was crying his misery out.

“The moment you give up is usually before the time a miracle happens” they say, and this, like an infuriating truth, actually happened to Yoongi. Days after their concert he received the news that _finally,_ she was to have a bone marrow donor and was to undergo an operation the next day, and a week after that, Yoongi was met with the news that she was alright and was gradually recovering, the bane of leukemia off her back.

“Are you going to come back to her?” Taehyung asked honestly, one morning after they knew of the news.

Yoongi shot him an irritated look. “And bring flowers? And then what, congratulate her? That _now_ we can make up and patch up things because she’s alright? Can you even hear what you’re saying?”

“I was just asking,” Taehyung snorted.

“Well then, next time think first before you ask something that will make you look like an idiot!”

“Yoongi! That’s too much!” Seokjin scolded, who happened to be in the same room. Even a face that pretty would look terrifying if it scowled to such darkness.

Jimin put a hand on V’s shoulder but the latter jerked it away, and slammed the door behind him on the way out.

“Apologize when you realize where you went wrong,” Seokjin told off a frowning (however guilty) Yoongi before walking out. Jimin just shrugged at the latter. _Things happen_.

Yoongi, as he later on admitted, owned that it wasn’t just the abnegation of letting her live without him make him stay away from her, but also it was shame and pride that had him refuse to the idea of crawling back. He knew she would have already forgiven him by this time, but his remorse blinded him, to the point of immobilizing him from things that he could have done that would have made him much happier.

Still, she wasn’t really healthy. There was the problem with her heart, and lately her liver had shown signs of defect as a result of the chemotherapy, and he could only imagine her parents just shaking their heads at the hopelessness of this all, much like he always did.

As Yoongi grew up in age (but seemingly not in mind) after the breakup he discovered that time doesn’t soothe sorrows; it only makes you face them daily till the line between what pains you and what the norm is hazes, coalescing together in a single reality that apparently you’ll forever be stuck in.

It shamed Yoongi to admit that he was just waiting for the invitation to her funeral. But maybe it was because of how enthusiastic she still wanted to live despite her dire condition, or God still had something in store—she didn’t leave _just yet_. Weeks stretched to months, months stretched into a year, and about three years after the incident at the rooftop that spring night, Yoongi’s audience was sought by Hoseok’s sister.

It was about two weeks ago when the doorbell rang and everyone welcomed her warmly. She brought the kimchi from her mother, and just when they thought that was the reason why she came, she said, which surprised everyone, “Can I have a word with Yoongi? Alone?”

They made their way to the terrace, not even bothering to sit down because “it was sorely urgent.”

“What is it?” Yoongi inquired.

Hoseok’s sister gravely said his ex’s name, and in the mention of her alone his knees felt like they turned to jelly momentarily. “She’s in the hospital.” He was no longer surprised about that part but what _did_ astonish him was, “She especially requests for your visit.”

And in that moment, Yoongi somehow foresaw how this tale was going to end.

It took all his willpower to visit the dreaded hospital again. During the first visit he felt like he was literally reliving the painful story, now probably with a known ending, and how they saw each other was now different.

But he figured out instantly that his feelings barely changed.


	3. 3/3

Everyone is astounded the next morning when they see Suga unnaturally blithe. They know it’s the day before the operation, but they don’t know what Yoongi does: this _is_ the Day.

“Morning,” he greets, pale chunky cheeks rising into prominence when he smiles. He still overslept, probably having stayed a little too long because of crying, but today he has woken up a bit earlier.

“Morn,” the others greet back, doing a fair job at hiding their surprise.

When Yoongi comes out of the house later they look at each other and shrug, and telepathically place their bets on whether he’d be coming home heartbroken (yet again) tonight or not.

 _It’s the day._ Yoongi preps himself mentally, on the way to the hospital. He’s nervous, but of course there’s no way out, remembering what they’ve talked about yesterday.

“No tears tomorrow,” she has said, “Let’s have fun tomorrow, just like the old times.”

 _No tears_. He promises himself. Because sure as hell he’ll be the one to cry first if that happens. He finds himself standing before the door and the drill goes on: three knocks, and then, “Come in.”

When he enters he finds that she’s not alone; there’s her mom, but she doesn’t frown at him—not exactly. She just smiles timidly when he bows, and bids a “Take care of my daughter,” when she goes out, to give the two of them “some time alone.”

They wait for the door to be shut before the patient says, much like his very first visit, “So, what brings one-seventh of Bangtan here?”

Both Suga and Yoongi grin. “No one has ever been as lucky as you to be visited by your idol in the hospital.”

“I know right.”

He sets the flowers, probably the last ones he’s ever going to offer, on the table nearby, replacing the old ones in the vase. Yoongi spends a moment staring at the old ones, wondering how many times he’ll have to see something like this when all of _this_ is over. But he changes face when he glances at her, “Okay, so what do you want to do today?”

She smiles, and gives him his answer.

Meanwhile in another part of the city the boys are busy practicing (they have excused Yoongi for the practices today because _love is pardonable_ , Jin said) and even with their minds preoccupied they still worry about Yoongi—if they’re ever going to experience the second (possibly worse) wave of his perdition.

On break-time Jungkook finally cracks the question everyone has been mentally asking. “You think hyung will be alright?”

Quiet. And then, “Healing just really depends on a person, really,” answers Hoseok, with a sad snigger. “Hyung’s been so wounded but he refused to be completely alright. Look where it brought him,”

“You sound like you’re blaming him, hyung,” Taehyung chuckles.

“No; I’m just stating truths.”

Jimin rests his head on the looking-glass. “But if it takes to totally break him to repair him, the best we can do is watch over him.”

“Long as he’s within repairable range, that is.” Namjoon whispers to himself, because he’ll never forget what he saw: the things written on the notebook, more than a year ago. “Let’s just hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. Now stand up; the routine ain’t gonna do itself.”

 

It becomes a pretty long day, contrary to what Yoongi expected. She has a splendid time with him, herself, and by stealing looks at him occasionally she smiles, wishing that he’ll still be happy like this even when he’ll be left at the mercy of the world she will leave behind. It’s been two years, but Yoongi is still Yoongi—the Yoongi that first she didn’t believe in when he introduced himself as Min Suga when she received a new contact request from Kakao that night. Staring at him, she remembers even her irritation and told the aforethought stranger to “stop posing as Suga” till she received a voice note. One could imagine how much her shock was then.

She was a bit too naïve, perhaps; she thought he was just checking on her, like how an oppa would be concerned about a fan, especially because her illness was serious. But she was proved wrong, after a lot of denial—he did, _he really did_ like her. And it didn’t take too long for that fondness to become a burdensome love.

 They try beating each other’s scores on phone games, and when they get tired they settle for watching a movie, and after all fun’s been exhausted sounds drain out in the room, just the two of them leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, Yoongi peeling apples.

“When’s the comeback?” she asks lazily. It’s two hours before twilight, and twilight means Yoongi has to go, and Yoongi going means she’ll miss him again.

He does a little counting with his fingers before answering, “A month and 2.5 weeks from now.”

“Nice math.”

“Thanks.” He hands the little platter to her and together they eat from it. “Hey, I have a question.”

“Hm?” she raises brows, chewing.

He feels cautious, but he can’t ask unless he’s honest. “If you knew that your case is…how do I say this…”

“Hopeless?”

He nods timidly. “Why did you still agree to undergo the surgery?”

“Well,” she shifts a little in her seat with a grunt. “You know those things that you know will absolutely go wrong, yet you still hope, with that tiny glimmer in you, that a miracle would still happen?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s pretty much what I have in mind,” nothing really changed about her personality. She still speaks in a carefree manner, like having heart disease happens to everyone. “Besides, I’m going anyway, might as well I exit it in a glam way,”

“It’s expensive.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs. “My parents have been earning for this, and I don’t want to sound like a brat, but…that’s the truth.”

She smiles while she says this, half her mouth full while chewing apple, until she meets Yoongi’s eyes, who are dead serious. She doesn’t know how long she’s lost in those brown orbs but good thing she regains herself and puts up a hand, “No tears, remember,” she awkwardly giggles.

A little later, she asks him to bring her to the rooftop. With tightly-held back reservations he complies, wheeling her up there, thinking that the “No tears” resolution will be kept the hard way today.

“Geez, it’s like nothing changed, really,” She points out. He does a countdown in his head before she’s going to talk about it. He stands beside her. “Hey Yoongi, remember when—”

“I confessed to you here,” it tastes a little bitter, coming from his mouth.

She detects the sour irony in his voice, so she quickly, gently takes his hand. “And I thank you for that.” It comes softly.

A snort comes out from his nostrils, something that’s like _you’re just saying that_ but she opposes that _really she means it_ and Yoongi just agrees, because even till now, between them, he was _still_ the loser in moving on.

“But were you happy?” the patient asks him. “Happy that I became a part of your life, even for just a while.”

For this entire day he’s been putting on his Suga façade with Yoongi ever rarely slipping out, but now the shell he calls by his stage name cracks, and slowly crumbles, as he kneels in front of her. “You know,” he takes both of her hands that are on her lap. “I’ve told you before already, right? You’ve made— _you make me_ happy, more than anything. And thank you—thank you for meeting me, thank you for coming to that Yeouido fansign, thank you for finding me amidst the shambles of my messy life and for making me learn that I can love someone more than myself,” he chuckles, but his own words impale him. “I’m happy—and if there’s anything better to describe the joy you’ve let me experience, believe me, that would be it. There were times when it hurt, but your place in me will always, _always_ be here. To have you love me was overwhelming, humbling, and even when it was painful, it was _beautiful_. It _is_ beautiful. And I will never stop being grateful. Just…Just—thank you, _thank you_.”

 _No tears today_ , she reminds herself, but her eyes are already getting cloudy, some liquid distorting her vision, so she stoops down, and kisses him on the forehead. “I should be the one thanking you, Yoongi.” She hopes it doesn’t have to hurt like this on their rebirth. “You came when I asked for you,”

He chokes back a sob, nodding. When his throat loosens a bit he lets it go, “I still love you.”

She laughs, her nose hovering over his head, and a tear rolls down her cheek. “That’s my line,” and sniffles loud.

 _Please make this end_ , Yoongi quietly prays, but ending this would mean her absence forevermore.

He feels a soft pair of hands slowly coating the sides of his head, and a hushed singing of, “ _Just one day, if only you and I could be together. Just one day, if only you and I could hold hands. Just one day, if only you and I could be together; just one day, one day.”_

Despite of the cracked voice, Yoongi would still choose her over all the best singers in the industry.

Later when they come back to the room they’re all of swollen eyes and chuckles of an unknown funny cause. It’s the end of the day, and Yoongi has to go.

“Are you sure you won’t have supper yet?” he asks, after assisting her back on her position on the bed.

“Pretty sure.” She nods. “Mom’s coming here later anyway, so,”

Yoongi’s eye is caught by something peeking out of her pillow; a rectangular shaped object being covered by the designs of constellations. He takes it out, figuring out what it is. “Is this the journal we talked about?”

She gasps and reaches for it frantically. “Give that back!”

But he wants to mess with her for a bit; he passes it between his hands, swings it above his head, hides it behind his back, and raises it in the air where she couldn’t reach (he was taller than her, something he was really proud of) while she was yelling at him. Soon the patient gives up reaching for it, and punches him in the gut instead, whereas Yoongi is forced to clutch his stomach, loosening his hold on the journal.

“That _hurt_!” he groans, but he finds himself laughing. She’s still as feisty as ever.

“Choose who you’re going to mess with next time,” she says coolly, safely tucking the notebook under the other side of the pillow, then sighs. “Man, that felt good. Can I do it again?”

“No way,” he snorts, and fixes himself, mind set upon departing. “Anyway, I should go. I’m gonna have to pull an all-nighter to learn the routine.”

“Well then.” She hesitates before asking, “Will you be here tomorrow?”

“What time is the operation?”

“Morning. So…probably by late afternoon, I’ll be free.” But there is doubt in her voice, something that Yoongi has not heard for a very long time. _If_ there will still be an afternoon for her tomorrow, that is the question.

Yoongi wants to say something, but words are clumsy. So he merely settles for an embrace, “I will be here tomorrow. Whether or not you’ll be asleep.”

“Thank you.” Her whisper is muffled in the sleeve of his jacket.

He kisses her on the forehead then, but she pulls his collar down, to level her mouth with his. It’s the best kind of kiss, Yoongi thinks. He leaves the hospital with the warmth of her lips still on his.

 

Yoongi doesn’t oversleep the next day, he doesn’t know why. He still cried the other night, Jimin knows, but it didn’t take an hour long and was less violent—no pounding on the wall next to him and too-loud sniffing.

Hoseok tells them that his sis’s friend will undergo the operation today. Yoongi hopes they’ll still see each other later.

He isn’t blind to the looks addressed to him quietly by his members, but decides against speaking about it. Yoongi’s taught the entire routine for the entire day, trying really hard to strain his mental state into focus because _worrying about her while practicing won’t help_. Alas, break-time comes and Taehyung sits beside him, drinking water, “I’m excited, hyung.”

He cocks a brow. “For?”

“The fun times we’re all going to have after noona is alright,” Taehyung’s lower and upper lip look like they’re of the same shape and size. Probably. He grins, pearly whites shining in two rows; the grin that Yoongi knows is just trying to make him feel better. “Because you’ve been keeping her all to yourself, hyung; she seems like an exciting person and we all like her!”

A part of him is annoyed by this seemingly tactless remark but he remembers the last time he lashed out on him. “Yes,” he mounts his elbow on his dongsaeng’s shoulder. “I’m excited, too.” But if one listens closely he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

He rushes to the hospital the instant he’s signaled a green light. When he gets there he finds her sleeping, something that he’s quite thankful for, the reason obvious.

He settles on a chair next to the patient’s bed. _She’s alright, she’s finally alright_. He’s happy beyond words. As far as his cynicism took him he only half-imagined that this situation would still have this kind of alternate ending: she’ll be alright, that they’ll get back together, that _she’s alive_ , and will never leave.

Min Yoongi takes her hand—the hand that used to be one shade darker than his skin tone, plump and soft against his touch—in his. Long, slender, bony fingers, they feel fragile. “Thank you for staying.”

She might have heard that or not, but he hears her sigh a little in her sleep, the tiniest hint of a smile occupying her face for the fraction of a second.

Yoongi doesn’t know how it all comes to that, but he falls asleep, his head beside her arm.

He wakes up to gentle, but consistent poking on his cheek, and he slowly opens his eyes. Normally he would yell when he’s disturbed from sleeping but luckily he instantly recognizes his surroundings.

“Hello,” she greets as he rubs his eyes. “Had a good nap?”

He nods subtly. “What time is it?”

“It’s 2 in the morning,”

 “ _Already_?”

“Yes,” her voice sounds a little rough, and a tad too small. Something feels wrong, but part of him stops himself from asking about it. “You need to go?”

“Not…not really.” _Not when you’re actually here, alive and awake_. “How long have you been up?”

“Nearly an hour…I’ve been reading.” She shows him with a motion of the hand _The Little Prince_.

“I’ve heard of that book. Is it good?”

“Very. It’s really touching. Too bad I’m still on the middle of it,” she sounds sad and regretful.

Yoongi notices yellow lines on the pages and exclaims, “You _highlight_ your books?”

 “Only the very interesting lines. Why?”

He thought people only do that on textbooks, but he stands corrected. “Nothing…”

She shifts a space to the left and taps the vacant space beside her. “Come here,”

Suga looks consciously to the direction of the watcher’s bed, where their maid is sleeping. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not really in the condition to do _it_ , am I?” there’s the signature mischievous glint in her eyes, embarrassing him all of a sudden. “Don’t be such a boy; just come here and lie next to me.”

“Alright.” _that’s where we’re still going, once we get married_. Cautiously, and quite stiffly too, he rests his back, and primly folds his hands on his chest.

She laughs at his adorable shyness, and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Wow,” he stares at the ceiling. “You’re here, you’re really here.”

“I can’t believe it, too.” she smiles at his awed face. “And I’m actually alright.”

“I’m so happy.”

 “Me too.” she laughs weakly. “You know the weird thing is, Yoongi?”

“What is?”

“I was knocked-out unconscious for like an entire day, yet I feel so, _so_ tired.”

“Well…” what does he say? “Do you remember anything during the operation?”

“Nothing much, except for a dream. I had a little of it.”

“What about it?”

“I dreamt that…” there’s a quiet for a while, he has to look at her.

 “That?”

“I dreamt about…” her hollow cheeks glow with the lightest amount of pink. “Being your wife.”

After a one-second delay, he puts a hand on his chest as if to clutch his heart, and grins, however seemingly smitten. “Ah, that is _so_ good.”

“You aren’t weirded out at all? Are you sure?” she blinks. “This is normal for fangirls.”

“You aren’t just a fan,” he laughs, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. _I dream about that too._ “Not anymore, at least. You’re someone who’s _actually with me._ ” They’ve gone way past the boyfriend/girlfriend phase. What they are now is the level below being engaged, two levels below marriage. No titles or special names, just making the most out of the joy of being together and holding on to love, faith and hope, with the belief that they can pull through even with just these.

She smiles, but something still feels amiss. She looks like her, but not quite her. After a quiet moment she rests her head onto a sleeping position. “Sing something for me, Yoongi.”

“I _would_ rap for you,”

“No-no-no; I mean, just hum, that’s enough.” She throws him an angelic smile she knows he won’t be able to resist. “Let me rest on your arm?”

“Sure.”

Yoongi wraps her around his arms then, her head—her ear—positioned where his heart should be. “Good night, Yoongi.”

“Good night, too.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into deep slumber, because as good as he is at rapping, he is as good as he hums _Haruman_ for her.

Again and again he repeats the chorus, the words slipping out of his mouth every so often, till he’s sure she’s asleep. He gently takes the little novel in her hand; her finger is sandwiched in between the pages.

And it drives him concerned when he sees the highlighted line:

“ _Here it is. Let me go on by myself._ ”

“This is insane,” he says with a nervous chuckle, setting the book down. He forces himself to sleep.

He doesn’t know how long they doze but some hours later happy sunshine streams into the room. “Morn,” Yoongi greets, rubbing his eyes. The patient is slumped against his chest, perfect tranquility on her face.

He looks at the maid standing near the bed; her eyes are widened, as if with shock. “What?” he asks. No response. He asks again, mid-shiver, “ _What_?”

His eyes fall slowly on the person lying next to him.

The body is cold.

 

 

Not a lot attend the funeral; only Hoseok, his sister, Yoongi, her parents and five to seven other family friends. Yoongi claims he doesn’t remember anything after finding out that she has gone to sleep _forever_ , except for very few things: he has the vague memory of hastily coming out of the room and spending a moment pounding the wall next to the door, and squatting down while wailing soundlessly, the hollow portion inside him eating him completely. Then he nearly threw a tantrum and demanded for a doctor, _quick_ , because _screw him he didn’t do his job well_ , and they had to call his manager, before he could ignite a scandal in the hospital and besmirch the name of his band.

When he was given explanations he only caught a few things like _the bypass operation wasn’t enough_ ,  and stenosis this and that, but he didn’t care, he doesn’t care— _she’s dead,_ he can’t hold her anymore; he can no longer be brave for anyone anymore; he’ll have no one to sing _Just One Day_ to, he will have no one to marry— _goddammit he’s never going to get married,_ because the woman he has ever loved left him for something better.

Before the crowd at the funeral completely dispersed, though, Yoongi was surprised when a hand was suddenly on his shoulder. “Yoongi,” it was her dad, her mom beside him. “I thank God every day for you, son.”

She had her father’s eyes, he realized. The gigantic clawed hand squeezed his heart while he replied, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” he shook his head. “Never think of it that way. She told me before she, well, _went_ , that you and I should at least remain as friends even when she’s gone. Have you any idea how giggly she always gets whenever she remembers you have my Stamp of Parental Approval?”

Both men chuckled, and here her mother inserted into the conversation. “I think I should apologize for some things I said,”

He never thought of abhorring her mother, even way back then, because she had a point. She always did. “I…it’s alright, ma’am. All’s been said and done,” Suga smiled.

“If there is anything you need, just tell us. We know your pain, too,” the parents side-hugged him from both sides, and it _was_ awkward, but the same pain that clutched them was what unified them most in that moment, Yoongi forgot about his awkwardness. And they cried together for a moment, like that, there, their feet a few inches from freshly-dumped earth, the name of the girl they all loved so well engraved on a tombstone, her only representation.

 

“We’re on it again.” Hoseok says one day in the practice rooms.

Namjoon looks over his shoulder and agrees, “Phase two.”

Jin is there though, to shake his head and quietly reproach them to _cut Yoongi  some slack_.

Instead of shutting himself in emotional seclusion Yoongi unleashes all his energy to his work: he stays up all night perfecting the routine, to the point where he becomes dehydrated and hip-injured, has only an hour or two of sleep, looks pale and inexcusably tired, and doesn’t even initiate to take meals.

A fortnight after her death Hoseok’s sister comes to visit the dorm yet again, and once more seeks for Yoongi’s audience.

He finds himself standing in the terrace with the female Jung again, much like the time when he was given the chance to rekindle his relationship with her. “If you’re here to offer your sympathy,” he says moodily. “I’m having a truckload of it, enough to last me three lifetimes.”

She gives him a sad smile. “I know that. I was the one responsible why you met, remember.”

He snickers.

“Do you regret meeting her, though?”

“Partly,” he answers, his stance much more relaxed now. “But then again if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have known how to, you know, love.”

“She was very brave. Even became braver when you guys met,” she puts a hand on his forearm, rubbing her thumb sisterly. “I’m sure she wants you to be brave, too. Though when it’ll be much harder now.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, and before I forget,” she digs for something in her bag, and hands the familiar object to him. “She told her parents to give it to you once she goes away, and since they can’t do the job, here I am.”

He’s awed beyond words. The pages are old and frayed; this is probably more than three years old already. He’s driven nervous by the idea that her most honest thoughts are in here.

“I was tempted to look into it,” Hoseok’s sister says, stifling a laugh. “But of course I couldn’t. Anyway, tell me when you’re done reading. I’d like to hear what she thinks about me, and you.”

He takes a deep breath. “Thank you. This means a lot to me,”

“You’re very welcome,” she bids that she has to get going; she has to meet with her boyfriend. Before she walks out she tells him, “Don’t worry, you’ll learn to love again.”

He doubts it.

 

 

He’s donned on his pajamas and jumps butt-first into his bed in a sitting position. Her journal is on his lap.

“You aren’t sleeping yet, hyung?” Jimin asks, an excess of courteousness in his voice.

“Have to do something,” Yoongi answers. “I’ll just let my lamp on.”

“Okay. Night hyung,”

“Night.”

Yoongi presses the lampshade on his side of the bed on. Bright white light grazes the nebular pattern on his lap. _This is the last piece of her_ , he thinks, and for some reason it doesn’t hurt. Not that bad, at least. He takes a deep breath, and opens it into a random page; he doesn’t want to read it in chronology.

The first thing he notices is that it isn’t the _dear diary_ type. They’re numbered, like items on an exam paper.

“I miss you already,” Yoongi whispers to himself, putting on his Suga smile.

 

_#39.) Nothing happened today. I just went to the doctor and had one of my checkups. They said I shouldn’t engage in tiring activities. Well, as if I would. I’m going to die soon anyway, why should I be in a hurry and be an idiot, to make it happen sooner?_

 

_#88.) Hello, journal. Sorry for neglecting you for like two weeks. My last entry was about my first attendance to a fansign by Bangtan. I like Jin so much, he looks so pretty. Even prettier than me but he’s really handsome too. Got dam, I would marry this guy. I’m going to attend another fansign to see him again ㅋㅋㅋㅋ_

 

_#100.) Today I was told that I’ve been looking pale and thin these past few days. I dunno; I just really have no appetite to eat even when pizza’s on the table. I mean I would, but not much. Not enough to make me full. I’m not hungry anyway. I’m even having fever as I’m writing this right now. I’m fine, I think. I hope…_

 

 _#128.) Went with my friend today (J-Hope’s sister; I don’t use her as a bridge to get me closer to Bangtan though, that would be cheating. But!!! I’m always tempted) to a café (can’t remember what the name was; I don’t frequent there) and GUESS whom we stumbled upon?? *drum roll* the one, the only, Min Suga!!! Oh, my gosh. I’ve encountered him more than twice during fansigns, and I doubt he actually remembered me even upon having seen me today. I couldn’t believe it too. Sure, he’s far from being my favorite, but that was enough consolation! Why, it isn’t every day that you accidentally meet a member of your favorite band. He looked a lot paler than usual, especially because he was barefaced. He looked tired. I hope he’s alright though_ (at this part Yoongi smiles). _How he brightened up when he saw Hoseok’s sister! I knew it, he really does have a crush on her. Also, Jung introduced me to him and aww, man. I could swear I changed biases for a moment there. Min Yoongi is really very cute_

 

_#144.) Hey. Haven’t filled in lately. I’m here at the hospital again; was rushed here the other day because my fever wouldn’t stop. They said I’ll be  out tomorrow. I’m excited, but what’s the point of getting out if I know I’ll just come back sooner or later? Oh, at least I have some good news.  unnie visited today, and~~~~brought along someone. And not just anyone, but Min Suga!! Holy cows. She said he wanted to come along (??????) I really don’t know why. Maybe he just went with her because…you know, he has a crush on her. I mean for crying out loud even my university friends don’t even visit me, how much more him, whom I only idolize. But I imagine though, what if he came for me…? Nah, impossible. And I’d rather not be delusional._

 

“You idiot,” Yoongi chuckles, Jimin’s snoring already heard in the background. “You’re not just wrong, you’re stupid.” he disses the page, just so he can stop himself from feeling the twisting pain inside him any further.

 

 _#150.) Wait what_  
What the hell happenin  
How did Min Suga get into my Kakao contacts  
what

 

_#171.) Been more than a month since Suga and I have started messaging each other. This guy, seriously. He’s so sassy—way sassier than I’ve ever known. But he’s funny too. And witty. And caring (??????) a bit??? I don’t know???? He keeps on texting. Not that I’m annoyed, I’m just confused. Why is he doing this? He keeps on asking if I’m alright…well, I am. Or at least that’s what I say. It’s not like he’ll ever understand. Wow, it feels so lonely writing this down…_

 

_#199.) Hospital. Again. Leukemia. Again._

 

_#200.) Oh shit Suga’s coming tomorrow_

 

_#201.) First Boyfriend Award goes to Min Yoongi …………_

 

_#202.) Woke up today to extreme pain in my arm. I’m proud to say I bore it on my own and didn’t have to call for mom or dad, though I was tempted to scream. I wanted to die, just to let this end. But something stopped me. I didn’t expect it would be it. It was the thought that I was in a relationship with Min Yoongi._

 

_#253.) I have never been so mistaken in my life.  
I thought I only liked him, loved him in theory… but he…he just…today…showed up on my door even after a long schedule. He said he’s sorry he’s never done it before, and probably won’t again for a long time. But he brought his notepad with him, to ask me for some ideas for a song. He isn’t sweet, I’m thankful for that. But he told me it’s nice, being with me. Said “it’s some kind of peace he’s never known”. It’s…weird, feeling like this._

 

_#276.) I become more and more anxious each day. I became fond of him as a friend, and gradually more than that, and the night at the rooftop confirmed it. I accepted his confession, thinking it was harmless if I gave it a shot—because it seemed worth it—but now it’s starting to hurt. My worry increases every day—what is he going to do once I go? Before, I was ready to die, because this life has been nothing but a pain to me, but now I want to live. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to leave Min Yoongi…_

 

_#283.)While being let to rest after my checkup, I spent an hour watching my recorded performances of theirs. When I saw Yoongi on the screen, I just had the purest, clearest thought:  
I am in love with this boy._

 

_#297.) Yoongi apologized, yet again, for his absence. It hurt, but I told him it was alright. I have no choice but to accept the fact that we’ll be like this more than I would like. Besides, I signed up for this anyway. At least I get to tell him my stories through the phone…that’s enough consolation, right?_

_I hope._

_I miss him._

 

_#303.) Chemotherapy is hell_

 

_#314.) I want to say sorry to him. If one would date a celebrity, even if it’s just kept in secret the girlfriend would go to her boyfriend’s live performances and/or show even the tiniest bit of support. But here I am, laying half-dead on my bed, forever stuck in an ocean that refuses to drown me._

 

_#329.) Listening to Just One Day again. I miss Yoongi. When was the last time I saw him? I miss him, every day._

 

_#347.) That shit. I can’t believe it. Today he asked me over the phone, “Don’t you have not health-related stories to tell?” why would he ask that? I mean I’m SORRY if I have nothing else to tell. I’m SORRY if my life is getting all too boring for him. I’m SORRY if I can’t live up to his expectations. I’m SORRY if he had to date someone like me, if he’s stuck with a sickly girl who’s just going to leave him for dead—goddamit, doesn’t he HAVE the slightest idea how that would sound to me? And he—of all people—would ask that. Shit….Min Yoongi damn you you prick you  piece of shit ah what the hell I’m crying screw this_

 

_#372.) At the hospital again. Sigh…when is this going to end…just…kill me…seriously_

 

_#375.) !!!!!! Yoongi visited!!!! I was so happy and surprised I would’ve had a heart attack there, I swear. But he got angry at me, and we fought, because I didn’t tell him right away that I got admitted. But…call me a weakling or whatever I forgave him on the spot. He’s caused a lot of pain, but perhaps…this is going to sound really corny…my love is bigger than his failures._

 

_#383.) Out of the hospital. Yoongi called me first thing in the morning. He sounded tired, I don’t know…like something was bothering him. Chose not to point it out, because maybe it was just fatigue from working too much. But I’m glad he called. I’ll try to repay him the next time. I wish he knew how much it boosts me up whenever I hear his raspy, deep, annoying voice. <3_

 

_#390.) Today was our first anniversary! Dad said it’s been granting me a really good effect since these past few days, as I was being excited, I seemed to have a different glow. I think I should agree. Today the weather sucked, but not the celebration. It was splendid, lovely. My boyfriend isn’t perfect, but I love him in the best way. We only sat there in our garden, and when evening came he went back in and when he came out again whoa—he carried a feast!! (I have to admit he looked much much more attractive than the food though) There were many dishes, but just enough for the two of us. It was the best dinner and in that moment something gave me hope: we aren’t the best couple, but we trust and love each other full well, and even with allowances for mistakes and failures we still end up finding fulfilling joy in each. Perhaps you say I sound like this because he’s my first love. Maybe you’re right. But I won’t have it any other way._

_A few entries ago I put on my thoughts about reincarnation, and today I told Yoongi about what he thinks of it. I got a smart answer, as usual. I don’t think he could really ride on what we were talking about, but I saw it in him—he was interested. Like he sounded…hopeful? Hearing about it? And he told me…he told me to look for him in our rebirth. Regardless how we will look like. Don’t worry, Yoongi. I will. I really will._

 

_#409.) I don’t always write in my journal…but when I do, I write about waking up screaming and thrashing in my bed because of unbearable pain in my head. It hurt, it really hurt, like my head and practically every part of my body was buzzing, like large metal needles were being drilled into it, and add the fever that wouldn’t get the hell out. That torture went on for like an hour but then Yoongi came, and finally convinced me to come to the hospital. It hurts me to see him scared._

 

Yoongi finds himself tearing at this part. He never knew such girlish thoughts would bend the man in him. _Sorry for making you miss me every day,_ is all he could think of, _I did miss you too,_ but everything’s too late now.  She was patient, all too patient, but what he’s glad about is that she got mad at him, too. If not then she would have become a total saint, making Yoongi deserve her even less.

He reads some more entries, he doesn’t notice the sun is beginning to rise outside. Most of them now aren’t half as much as the other paragraphs she’s written, since here she was slowly losing her strength to her therapies and frequent dozing. This really is the mind of a sick person—even the way they write is affected. He could see a lot of errors, with strikethroughs here and there; sometimes even her words are repeated that she couldn’t monitor her grammar.

He’s sorry.

 

_#418.) He broke up with me._

 

_#425.) Fucking shit it still hurts so much_

 

_#459.) Been two months since Yoongi broke up with me. I haven’t really talked about it here, I think it’s time. For the record, I totally understand him. Of course it hurts, but I’m glad—a little—that he broke up with me. Because that would hurt less once I go. Probably. I knew he was scared, too. I hope he finds another woman to love…someone that isn’t sickly, unlike me. Someone that could love him well and show it. Someone who could spend time with him more. Someone who doesn’t demand so much from him. I hope he’s happy right now, wherever he may be. But I still miss him._

 

_#470.) Been several weeks since I last wrote on you, huh, journal? Yeah, I miss me too. I had a bone marrow transplant not so long ago. Hoseok visited me today. Said that he—they—are glad that I’m recovering. No one brought up Yoongi until before he went out. He said, “Don’t worry. He’s glad, too.” but that’s not what I wanted to hear. Call me self-flattering or whatever, but I want to hear if he missed me, even just a bit. Because even now I still do._

 

_#519.) Journal!!! I thought I lost you forever!!! Where were you anyway :( I wasn’t able to bring you to the hospital. Minji the housekeeper said you were just here in my room, but she lied. I mean, you were here, but was stuck under my cabinet for like how many months? I can’t remember. Anyway I’m fine, I guess. In other news, Rap Monster’s having a solo album! They said ~~Yoongi~~  Suga produced the single. Or he helped in it._

 

_#600.) I’ve been getting compliments lately; my parents and doctors have been saying that I seem to be recovering not only in health but also in spirits nowadays. I’m glad. I try my best to stay away from the internet, or any media at all, because they remind me of him. It shames me to admit that no matter how I move on with my life, part of me will always be lost and it’s somewhere I could never find. Or maybe I know where—or who—it is with. I’ve enrolled for a semester again, and my friends are glad to have me back, even trying to hook me up with some guy occasionally, but it always ends up flopping. It’s like he ghosts around me every day of my life._

 

_#764.) I laugh as I write this—if we were still together right now it would have been our third anniversary. I’m not gonna deny it, I still get the butterflies when I think of him. But I don’t think he’d still feel the same. I would be glad if I know he’s found another woman for him, but I still want to see him. Because these past few days I feel myself shutting down slowly. I mean, maybe I’m just psychologically affected because I have finally decided to undergo a surgery for my heart, and knowing that the chances are slim, death seems so close to my horizon more than anyone else’s. Now…I think…whatever happens after the surgery (it will be two weeks from now) it will be for the better. I’ve made my parents suffer enough._

 

_#768.) I asked Jung unnie if she could deliver the message to ~~Yoongi~~ Suga that I want to see him. Today, after like two years, I saw him again. I was happy beyond words, yet also hurt a bit. He was so awkward, but not the type that I would ever laugh at because I myself was so. He checked up on me. The visit lasted for about forty-five minutes. He said he’ll be coming tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt to admit that I still am excited, right?_

 

 _#777.) oops, forgot to write again. It’s 2:37 AM right now. Our maid Minji is asleep and I’m here writing. I woke up from a dream I couldn’t remember, and upon waking my first clear thought was I was looking for ~~Yoongi~~ Suga. No, not looking—_longing _for him. Maybe I still love him, even. The thought scares me. Suga’s been visiting nearly every day. As the days passed we became more and more comfortable with each other—of course never as comfortable as before as we have walls built. But at least we talk, like stiff friend-chitchat, like that. I get to see him, that’s what matters._

 

 _#785.) Woke up this afternoon to something heavy across my chest. When I opened my eyes, I saw a babyfaced pale boy leaning his head on my shoulder, his arm slung across my collar. He was sitting next to the bed, with his pose so close to me like that. I was startled, of course, and for a moment I thought I was going to have a heart attack, really. I wanted to stay like that (okay, I sound so girly right now) but I couldn’t breathe, and if I moved his arm he would’ve woken up and felt bad thinking I didn’t want his arm there (I really did, okay) so I just shook him lightly and when opened his eyes—_ holy cows— _he smiled at me, although spent a second or two blinking. “Can’t breathe,” I said, but it came out laughing. “Sorry,” he replied, flustered, and politely removed his arm. It was awkward for a really long minute, then I asked him, “Were you cold while sleeping?” he said “I guess” and then I didn’t know why but I started laughing, and because laughter is contagious he grinned and then chuckled, too. That was all that happened during his visit because like five minutes later he was called in for a schedule. But when we laughed, I felt something glimmer, like the room lighted up—like how it would be like when we had our good times, before._

 

_#789.) I’m growing the habit of writing more than once a day in this journal. Well, I did no ruling that I write here in a 1:1 ratio, right? Yoongi just left, and I have about fifteen minutes before Mom comes in. today, Yoongi tried to kiss me (!!!!!!!!!!) but I got so alarmed I actually refused it (screw me) but don’t get me wrong. I think he just tried to do that in a fleeting feeling of the moment; he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think so._

 

_#790.) it’s 8  in the morning and I just opened my inbox. There was a message from Yoongi, and it read: “I never forgot.” And another one: “All this time.” It made me uncomfortable, and I was left wondering about what he’d be doing at 3 AM, texting weird things like that. I called up Hoseok’s sister and she teased me about it, but it turned serious when she told me that was probably a drunk-text. I was about to ask what it means then recalled the answer was very obvious. He won’t probably remember he messaged me that, and would maybe be embarrassed by what he did once he realizes it. I wish I could get drunk, too, to tell him those things. I myself have never forgotten, too._

 

_#791.) He didn’t come today. He called me at 10 AM and said so; they had to start recording for the album already. And while I sat there, I thought of a little rhyme, and I’ll write it down, just because:_

Little boy, little boy, descended from the sky,  
One of Almighty’s greatest creations, a relish to the eye;  
The words you immortalize for Thought’s aid,  
Come to life as if with magic, from pages pressed and frayed.  
Little boy, little boy, descended from the sky,  
Do what you love best, until your final sigh.

_Please, Yoongi. Please do._

 

_#792.) It’s 9 in the evening and mom is already asleep on the watcher’s bed. It’s raining outside. it’s this kind of coldness from outside and inside that makes me feel the density of my being much more significant than anything else in the world. I hate to admit it, but I think my time is almost here. Today Yoongi has failed to visit for the same reason, the album, and today I have told my mom that she give Yoongi this journal once I am gone—not to make him bear any kind of guilt, but to leave him the most intimate of my thoughts. I never forgot the day he told me he wanted to see what’s inside this. Maybe it’s time. And I want him to read this little something he could remember:_

R E C O V E R Y

One day  
You will find yourself  
not at the mercy of your sadness  
but in the shelter  
of love’s comfort  
  
Sit down. Get busy. Eat.  
Rinse and repeat.  
change the covers of your pillows  
that have been stained by tears

Look at yourself in the mirror.  
Smile.  
Practice makes perfect,  
they say,  
but never mistake it  
for healing  
  
Listen closely,  
pay attention  
to the moment when you hear  
your heart beating again  
  
Time soothes sorrows,  
let it pass.  
Rinse and repeat.  
You will have gained recovery  
when you least know it.

 

_#793.) Today, after two years, we have forgiven each other, settled the bitter past. I write now with puffed eyes, because we were so happy, it was painful. I am glad to leave having made peace with him, finally. These past few days have been a rollercoaster of awkward moments, drunken confessions, tears of forgiveness. Today I realized how much the sadness has overtaken us. And it pains me even more to think that once I’m gone, he’ll be left alone to bear the burden of that sadness alone. Although I want him to know that this death, will not be because I chose it. It chose me, “like a child taken away by goblins.” I told him that tomorrow we will not cry. I know that’s quite impossible._

 

 _#794.) “_ Just for one day, if only you and I could be together.  
Just for one day, if only you and I could hold hands.  
Just for one day, one day.”

_Thank you, Min Yoongi. Thank you for this day. Thank you for making this day happen._

 

 _#795.) I am in my last moments before I enter the operating room. God knows what will happen there. I want to call Yoongi, hear his voice one last time, but he’s still asleep by now, and I don’t want to wake him. I’ll try to fight, because he said he’ll come by later, and because I am still full of regrets—these days haven’t been enough, these weeks, all the wasted time; all the unsaid words, all the unspent hours, all the days that could have been ahead of us, all the songs he’d make I could still hear, the children we could even have, everything. I don’t want to go away, I just realized it now,_ (here Yoongi sees that the ink is smudged with what had been a blot) _and imagining Yoongi move on with his life and me not being a part of it, him loving another woman, is something I’m still trying to accept._ _He told me that I found him, but I think that’s not true—_ he _found me. It was because he sought for me even when it was almost impossible, not because I came to that fansigning event. Yoongi’s eyes have always been a home, and I’m afraid I would be homesick for them even in Heaven.  
Someone’s knocking on the door. Be good, Yoongi. Take care of yourself._

 

He’s already tearing up, himself, at this part, and tries to swallow down an ugly sob. Why did it have to cost so much? But he braves on, and reads the last, and he’s driven even more upset that at the end of this entry, he should officially start to let go:

 

_796.) he’s sleeping right now, beside me. He fell asleep while waiting for me to wake up, that seems like it. It’s the morning after the operation. I’m tired. It’s nice seeing Yoongi like this: so peaceful, tranquil, he’s like a child, unmarred by the pains of the world, especially from ones I caused. He still loves me and I do, too. And it breaks my heart to realize that my time is up and I’m probably going anytime, and leave him._

_Before (before we started our relationship, before that night at the rooftop, before everything), I asked myself, what is Min Yoongi to me? The answer was really simple: an acquaintance. But as the days passed, I found myself falling for him deeper and harder, and as it grew painful, I felt elated, in a weird way; they say that’s what love does. But I wish I could tell the world that our love—or my love for him—is anything but ordinary. Others would choose Taehyung or Jin in his band as the most handsome but to me, he is the most beautiful. Yep, even with his sharp tongue. He is funny, mostly even mean, and that’s what makes him Min Suga, Min Yoongi for me. But if there is one thing I don’t like about him is that he doesn’t know the art of forgiving himself. He could accept a thousand apologies, but not his own. I saw it in him, I_ see _it in him, and it hurts me_. _I don’t want that. A few days ago I told him I already forgive him—I’ve always had, but he couldn’t give that same forgiveness to himself. I wish he loved himself more, because love always comes with pardoning faults. He probably thinks it takes a saint to do all this stuff, but he knows me: I am not one, but I did. Why? Because I love him. Despite of the many times he had hurt me, times when we both had hurt each other._

_Min Yoongi, if you’re reading this it can only mean that I’m already gone. Now don’t ever say “for good,” because knowing that I was to leave you was one of the hardest, most painful things I ever came to realize. Min Yoongi, you are my first and last love. I may not mean the same to you, but I won’t have it any other way. Thank you for a life of tears, laughter, cheesy lyrics, hope, adventure, and on top of all—love. I’m sorry for all the times when I wasn’t a good girlfriend to you; there were times when I wasn’t around to support you, that even my mere presence in your shows was something I could not grant you. I know; I should have tried harder. I wasn’t enough, but please do know that I loved you the best way I could._

_You told me_ Just One Day _is our theme song. Maybe it is. And I will wait for that one day when we’ll see each other again. It won’t be in this life, I know; it will be in another. They say rebirth isn’t true, but whether or not it is, if I were reborn, I’d still choose to love you, no matter how painful it would be, regardless of time and place. I read something before and I’d like to quote it, because it fits:_ “And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you _._ ” _Please, Yoongi, in the event of my death, don’t be too sad. Don’t let it consume you. Go out to the world, do what you love; oh, even love another woman and have a family with her, but please, don’t forget me. Keep me in you, as a memory, not pain: regard me in the light of a lesson. Let me be a lesson of how love can do so much. Because Yoongi, loving you was wonderful: it made me brave, hold on, and most importantly it taught me how to let go._

_I have loved you always. I still do, even now, in the end of my days, and I still will, beyond them. Yoongi, my love, please be happy. Wake up every morning feeling better and better, till you will feel like you didn’t ever lose me. Nothing is temporary, even death. It might seem like it draws us apart, but you will feel, soon, that it will only bring us closer than ever, because I am a part of you. Sing for me. Be brave, Yoongi, even when your battle will be harder than mine. Be brave and strong; do it again and again till you find someone with whom you’ll share a love that was like ours, and I tell you: you will be glad you fought this battle._

_We will find each other again, even when you’ll have to see the asters on my grave blossom many, many times before that reunion happens. In the meantime, I will miss you._

_It is 2 in the morning, and I am tired. I will wake you up now, and request you to sing for me, one last time._

_I love you, never forget that. Until we meet again._

 

Jimin is aroused with a jerk when he hears a loud thump within the room, and with a dizzy head he finds his hyung screaming, his pillows, a notebook, and several things splayed across the floor. Quickly he comes to the rescue and forcefully embraces his hyung to prevent him from thrashing. “Hyung, hyung,” he says, realizing what’s happening.

“Leave me _alone_!” the older boy screams, but this only makes Jimin hold onto him much stronger.

“Yoongi-hyung, _Yoongi-hyung!_ ” the other repeats, while the fragile Suga covers his face with his hands, wailing things along the lines of, “I’m miserable” and “I miss her”.  Jimin feels bad, doesn’t know what to say except for “Just let it out” because _really_ , he _had_ to let it out, to let her go, because his hyung never did this two years previous.

“She told me to love someone else, Jimin.” It hurts so bad, seeing his apathetic, cool Suga-hyung crumble down like this. “ _She told me to love someone else,_ my ass _.”_ Bitter laughter emanates from the rapper and Jimin is chilled. It sounds pathetic, very sad, almost insane.

“Just let it out, hyung…”

“Why was I a coward, Jimin? Why?” Yoongi prodded on. “ _Why did I waste all these years?_ ”

“It wasn’t your fault, hyung. You said you were afraid of being left,”

“But they say there’s no fear in love,” he sniffles. “So I never loved her _enough_?”

 _Maybe,_ Jimin wants to say, because that could also be why, but chooses to keep his tact. Yoongi continues to sob, _really loud_ , Jimin is afraid that he might awake everyone and just in time, a thick slew of boys comes into the room, Namjoon in lead, but no one asks “what happened?” because finally, what they’ve been waiting for all these years has finally materialized.

They approach Yoongi’s bed and wordlessly, pat him on the back, because words are clumsy.

Taehyung gets his hyung a glass of water which was nice of him, because since they entered the room he was clueless and panicky thinking of a way to ease his Suga’s pain, if there was any. But the approving nod of his other hyungs makes him think that he probably had helped, even just a bit.

“One day you will look back and feel glad that this happened.” Jin soon whispers to the fallen hero, and in the inadequately-lit room of Jimin and Yoongi’s they all smile sadly as the rapper sobs, because finally, _the pus out of the wound is out_.

 

Indeed, he sees the asters on her grave blossom and die repeatedly as the seasons cycled, and the years rolled. After that incident everyone was cautious to be around Yoongi, even Bang PD, who wanted to be comforting, or tried to, but Yoongi told him that he was slowly becoming alright. Suga at first thinks he just lies with the “alright” but he finds himself again, albeit still broken, and puts Min Yoongi together back, with the help of those who love him most.

He isn’t repaired, as Namjoon said, but renewed, as with every day the Yoongi they knew came back to their arms, not as if nothing happened, but being one who once became a victim to misery and emerging stronger. He got that old meanness and sharp tongue back, but there is that tenderness about him that they know will forever be there. Sometimes, Jimin thinks he could still see the sadness swimming across his hyung’s brown eyes but his roommate assures him that it’s alright, he’s alright, that life has nowhere to go but forward. Jimin is relieved every time.

It’s a chilly spring day, three cycles of seasons after she left. Yoongi’s visiting her after quite a time.

“Bangtan’s game isn’t as strong as it used to be,” he states, talking to the whitewashed stone. “It hasn’t been, these past few years, actually. But I’m glad. I’m enlisting in the army soon, following Seokjin.” He smiles, eyeing the purple flowers he just put there. “We won’t be bulletproof boy scouts anymore, perhaps bulletproof _soldiers_ , maybe even minus the bulletproof because titles are just titles, right,” he laughs. Wind wafts across the green hill, rustling the grass and leaves, and birds twittering somewhere are heard. He puts a hand on top of the stone. “You know, I listened to _Just One Day_ yesterday. It still reminds me of you, and I still do miss you, but not the painful kind of longing. You’ve always had a clearer prospect of the future than I did.” Something warms inside him, climbing up to his face, and it tickles; his cheeks flush, he grins, and breathes the single line, imitating how Seokjin would sing it, “ _Just for one day I wish to be with you, with you_.”

There is no response, of course, only the calming breeze of the wind. He still has to go somewhere. “I’ll swing by again soon, don’t worry,” he bids, before getting down the hill. He sees Jungkook leaning on his car.

“You took so long, hyung. I could’ve been to the moon and back.”

“I was there for like ten minutes, shut up.”

“The hyungs are there at the camp already; we’re running late. Seokjin-hyung will be very disappointed if he doesn’t see us there.”

“Calm your mammaries, boy, we’ll get there.” Jungkook rides shotgun and as Yoongi drives, they prepare jokes to pull on Seokjin, such as pick on his hair, and think of calling him “Sergeant” for the rest of his life.

Yoongi tries to imagine how she would react to him enlisting if she were still here now, and a fond smile occupies his face on the recollection of his tender, lost love, as the car speeds away, receding into the afternoon Seoul sun.

 

 

Melancholy is what he smells when he intakes air to his lungs.

It had been a pretty long day, and now the sun is setting in the horizon, and though there’s a nagging feeling inside of him that something is amiss, he couldn’t exactly point it out because he’s being too careful not to hit anything while driving the road to their home. He thinks that maybe it’s his shift to make dinner tonight—he couldn’t be sure, for as the past few days, no, weeks even, she’s the one who’s been taking over the kitchen regardless of how tired she was from work.

Their dog barks in excitement upon his ingress at the gate, waggling its tail. He gets in the house and the first thing he sees is the beautiful, long straight hair he has always fallen in love with.

“Did Taehyung burn the building down by accident or you were really granted an early time-out?” jests his wife with a held-back grin. She’s already donned on the apron, and he feels a little guilty thinking that he’s done it again: he won’t be making dinner tonight.

But nonetheless he retains his sweet demeanour: he circumscribes her waist in a backhug and deliberately perches his chin on her shoulder. “Your sarcasm is legendary, Mrs Min.”

“Not much, compared to your cynicism.” She chuckles. “Who were you again—‘conspiracy theorist Min Suga?’”

“I’ve outgrown the title, you know that.”

“But I’ll never forget how much you made me laugh through the screen, doubting and lashing at the PDs like that during _Endplate King_.”

He laughs. He has a feeling this will even reach their children. “I sometimes wonder why you even wanted to marry me.”

“Well, I was an accountant for BigHit and one day I was stuck in Bang PD’s office crunching some numbers. There was an old song playing from the speakers and you told me that song has always reminded you of someone,” she smiles. “I asked you if the memory was still painful, and you answered no, because in place of that certain person someone has come. Then you smiled at me, leaning on the table, and asked if I wouldn’t mind filling out some forms,”

Yoongi, smugly, grins.

“I looked at it for a while then realized it was a marriage registration form. It was a disarmingly romantic marriage proposal, so you can say pretty much that I had no choice. Smooth as hell.” His wife rolls her eyes. “Well played, Min Yoongi. Well played.”

“Oh, but you loved it.”

“I hate to admit that I did.”

He kisses his wife, then and there, and he hears in his head the very faint but clear echo from something he read, nearly a decade ago: _and I tell you: you will be glad you fought this battle._

He smiles in the kiss. They will see each other again one day. Maybe, perhaps, probably.

_If that were to happen, how great would it be?_


End file.
